Kiplingo. 

He’s  a great  young  man  to  spin  ^quaint 
yarns, 

Kipling,  kiplung,  kiplingo; 

He  has  little  use  for  Yankee  “darns,” 
Kipling,  kiplung,  kiplingo ! 

In  farther  India  he  slew  his  foes, 

Big-lipped  men  with  crooked  toes, 

He’s  a tough-skinned  man,  the  story  goes, 
Kipling,  kiplung,  kiplingo. 

His  brogues  are  queer  and  varied,  too, 
Kipling,  kiplung,  kiplingo ; 

He’s  not  so  good  in  Kickapoo, 

Kipling,  kiplung,  kiplingo ! 

To  him  these  western  climes  are  new, 

He  finds  his  bite  he  cannot  chew. 

He  “wallered”  in  Chicago’s  dew, 

Kipling,  kiplung,  kiplingo. 

We’ll  give  the  lad  his  just  deserts, 

Kipling,  kiplung,  kiplingo; 

We’ll  read  with  smiles  his  little  squirts, 
Kipling,  kiplung,  kiplingo  I 
But  Chicago's  flag  will  ever  float. 

She’ll  toot  her  horn  with  thrilling  note 
Long  after  people  cease  to  vote 
Kipling,  kiplung,  kiplingo. 


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PLAIN  TALES 


PLAIN  TALES 

FROM 

THE  HILLS. 


PV 

RUDYARD  KIPLING. 


authorized  £DIT/CX> 


NEW  YORK 

JOHN  W.  LOVELL  COMPANY 

150  WoBTH  Street,  corner  Mission  Place 


Copyright,  i8Sg, 

By  John  W.  LovelLo 


CONTENTS, 

^ 

^ Lispeth 

^ Three  and— an  Extra 

^ Thrown  Aw  AY 

V Miss  Vouch al’s  Sais 

^ Yoked  with  an  Unbeliever 

False  Dawn 

^ The  Rescue  of  Pluffles 

^ Cupid’s  Arrows 

N 

^ The  Three  Musketeers 

4 His  Chance  of  Life.  

Watches  of  the  Night 

The  Other  Man 

Consequences.  . * 

The  Conversion  of  Aurelian  McGoggin. 

The  Taking  of  Lungtungpen 

^A  Germ  Destroyer 

Kidnapper 

, The  Arrest  of  Lieutenant  Golightly.. 

In  the  House  of  Suddhoo 

^His  Wedded  Wife 

/^The  Broken-link  Handicap 

u 

^ Beyond  the  Pale 

^ In  Error 

^A  Bank  Fraud 

':^Tods’  Amendment 

v^^The  Daughter  of  the  Regiment 


Pages. 

..  7 

..  14 
..  19 
.•  30 

.«  35 
..  43 
53 
. . 60 

..  66 

•.  73 
..  80 

..  87 

...  92 

..  99 

..  105 

..  112 
..  118 
. 124 

..  131 
..  141 

..  148 

. 155 
..  163 

..  168 
. . 176 
..  183 


VI 


CONTENTS. 


Pages. 

In  the  Pride  of  His  Youth 190 

Pig 197 

The  Rout  of  the  White  Hussars 215 

The  Bronckhorst  Divorce  Case 217 

Venus  Annodomini 224 

The  Bisara  of  Pooree 230 

The  Gate  of  the  Hundred  Sorrows 237 

The  Madness  of  Private  Ortheris 245 

The  Story  of  Muhammad  Din 254 

On  the  Strength  of  a Likeness 258 

Wressley  on  the  Foreign  Office 265 

By  Word  of  Mouth 272 

To  BE  Filed  for  Reference 278 


PLAIN  TALES  FROM  THE  HILLS. 


LISPETH. 

Look,  you  have  cast  out  Love  ! What  Gods  are  these 
You  bid  me  please  ? 

The  Three  in  One,  the  One  in  Three  ? Not  so  ! 

To  my  own  Gods  I go. 

It  may  be  they  shall  give  me  greater  case 

Than  your  cold  Christ  and  tangled  Trinities. 

The  Convert, 

She  was  the  daughter  of  Sonoo,  a Hill-man,  and  Jadeh 
his  wife.  One  year  their  maize  failed,  and  two  bears 
spent  the  night  in  their  only  poppy-field  just  above  the 
Sutlej  Valley  on  the  Kotgarh  side;  so,  next  season,  they 
turned  Christian,  and  brought  their  baby  to  the  Mission 
to  be  baptized.  The  Kotgarh  Chaplain  christened  her 
Elizabeth,  and  ‘‘  Lispeth  ” is  the  Hill  or  pahari  pronun- 
ciation. 

Later,  cholera  came  into  the  Kotgarh  Valley  and  carried 
off  Sonoo  and  Jadeh,  and  Lispeth  became  half-servant, 
half-companion,  to  the  wife  of  the  then  Chaplain  of 
Kotgarh.  This  was  after  the  reign  of  the  Moravian  mis- 
sionaries, but  before  Kotgarh  had  quite  forgotten  her  title 
of  ''  Mistress  of  the  Northern  Hills."' 

Whether  Christianity  improved  Lispeth,  or  whether  the 
gods  of  her  own  people  would  have  done  as  much  for 
her  under  any  circumstances,  I do  not  know ; but  she 


8 


LISPETH, 


grew  very  lovely.  When  a Hill  girl  grows  lovely,  she  is 
worth  travelling  fifty  miles  overbad  ground  to  look  upon. 
Lispeth  had  a Greek  face — one  of  those  faces  people  paint 
so  often,  and  see  so  seldom.  She  was  of  a pale,  ivory 
color  and,  for  her  race,  extremely  tall.  Also,  she  pos- 
sessed eyes  that  were  wonderful ; and,  had  she  not  been 
dressed  in  the  abominable  print-cloths  affected  by  Mis- 
sions, you  would,  meeting  her  on  the  hill-side  unexpect- 
edly, have  thought  her  the  original  Diana  of  the  Romans 
going  out  to  slay. 

Lispeth  took  to  Christianity  readily,  and  did  not  aban- 
don it  when  she  reached  womanhood,  as  do  some  Hill 
girls.  Her  own  people  hated  her  because  she  had,  they 
said,  become  a memsahih  and  washed  herself  daily ; and 
the  Chaplain’s  wife  did  not  know  what  to  do  with  her. 
Somehow,  one  cannot  ask  a stately  goddess,  five  foot  ten 
in  her  shoes,  to  clean  plates  and  dishes.  So  she  played 
with  the  Chaplain’s  children  and  took  classes  in  the  Sunday 
School,  and  read  all  the  books  in  the  house,  and  grew 
more  and  more  beautiful,  like  the  Princesses  in  fairy 
tales.  The  Chaplain’s  wife  said  that  the  girl  ought  to 
take  service  in  Simla  as  a nurse  or  something  '‘genteel.” 
But  Lispeth  did  not  want  to  take  service.  She  was  very 
happy  where  she  was. 

When  travellers — there  were  not  many  in  those  years — 
came  in  to  Kotgarh,  Lispeth  used  to  lock  herself  into  her 
own  room  for  fear  they  might  take  her  away  to  Simla,  or 
somewhere  out  into  the  unknown  world. 

One  day,  a few  months  after  she  was  seventeen  years 
old,  Lispeth  went  out  for  a walk.  She  did  not  walk  in 
the  manner  of  English  ladies — a mile  and  a half  out, 
and  a ride  back  again.  She  covered  between  twenty  and 
thirty  miles  in  her  little  constitutionals,  all  about  and 
about,  between  Kotgarh  and  Narkunda.  This  time  she 


LIS  PETIT. 


9 


came  back  at  full  dusk,  stepping  down  the  break-neck 
descent  into  Kotgarh  with  something  heavy  in  her  arms. 
The  Chaplain's  wife  was  dozing  in  the  drawing-room 
when  Lispeth  came  in  breathing  hard  and  very  exhausted 
with  her  burden.  Lispeth  put  it  down  on  the  sofa,  and 
said  simply  : — This  is  my  husband.  I found  him  on  the 
Bagi  Road.  He  has  hurt  himself.  We  will  nurse  him, 
and  when  he  is  well,  your  husband  shall  marry  him  to 
me." 

This  was  the  first  mention  Lispeth  had  ever  made  of 
her  matrimonial  views,  and  the  Chaplain's  wife  shrieked 
with  horror.  However,  the  man  on  the  sofa  needed  atten- 
tion first.  He  was  a young  Englishman,  and  his  head 
had  been  cut  to  the  bone  by  something  jagged.  Lispeth 
said  she  had  found  him  down  the  khud^  so  she  had 
brought  him  in.  He  was  breathing  queerly  and  was 
unconscious. 

He  was  put  to  bed  and  tended  by  the  Chaplain,  who 
knew  something  of  medicine;  and  Lispeth  waited  outside 
the  door  in  case  she  could  be  useful.  She  explained  to 
the  Chaplain  that  this  was  the  man  she  meant  to  marry; 
and  the  Chaplain  and  his  wife  lectured  her  severely  on 
the  impropriety  of  her  conduct.  Lispeth  listened  quietly, 
and  repeated  her  first  proposition.  It  takes  a great  deal 
of  Christianity  to  wipe  out  uncivilized  Eastern  instincts, 
such  as  falling  in  love  at  first  sight.  Lispeth,  having 
found  the  man  she  worshipped,  did  not  see  why  she 
should  keep  silent  as  to  her  choice.  She  had  no  intention 
of  being  sent  away,  either.  She  was  going  to  nurse  that 
Englishman  until  he  was  well  enough  to  marry  her.  This 
was  her  little  programme. 

After  a fortnight  of  slight  fever  and  inflammation,  the 
Englishman  recovered  coherence  and  thanked  the  Chap- 
lain and  his  wife,  and  Lispeth — especially  Lispeth — for 


lO 


LISPETH. 


their  kindness.  He  was  a traveller  in  the  East,  he  said — 
they  never  talked  about  ''globe-trotters'' in  those  days, 
when  the  P.  & O.  fleet  was  young  and  small — and  had 
come  from  Dehra  Dun  to  hunt  for  plants  and  butterflies 
among  the  Simla  hills.  No  one  at  Simla,  therefore,  knew 
anything  about  him.  He  fancied  he  must  have  fallen 
over  the  cliff  while  stalking  a fern  on  a rotten  tree-trunk, 
and  that  his  coolies  must  have  stolen  his  baggage  and 
fled.  He  thought  he  would  go  back  to  Simla  when  he 
was  a little  stronger.  He  desired  no  more  mountaineer- 
ing. 

He  made  small  haste  to  go  away,  and  recovered  his 
strength  slowly.  Lispeth  objected  to  being  advised 
either  by  the  Chaplain  or  his  wife ; so  the  latter  spoke 
to  the  Englishman,  and  told  him  how  matters  stood  in 
Lispeth's  heart.  He  laughed  a good  deal,  and  said  it 
was  very  pretty  and  romantic,  a perfect  idyl  of  the 
Himalayas  ; but,  as  he  was  engaged  to  a girl  at  Home, 
he  fancied  that  nothing  would  happen.  Certainly  he 
would  behave  with  discretion.  He  did  that.  Still  he 
found  it  very  pleasant  to  talk  to  Lispeth,  and  walk  with 
Lispeth,  and  say  nice  things  to  her,  and  call  her  pet 
names  while  he  was  getting  strong  enough  to  go  away. 
It  meant  nothing  at  all  to  him,  and  everything  in  the 
world  to  Lispeth.  She  was  very  happy  while  the  fort- 
night lasted,'because  she  had  found  a man  to  love. 

Being  a savage  by  birth,  she  took  no  trouble  to  hide 
her  feelings,  and  the  Englishman  was  amused.  When 
he  went  away,  Lispeth  walked  with  him  up  the  Hill 
as  far  as  Narkunda,  very  troubled  and  very  miserable. 
The  Chaplain's  wife,  being  a good  Christian  and  disliking 
anything  in  the  shape  of  fuss  or  scandal — Lispeth  was 
beyond  her  management  entirely — had  told  the  English- 
man to  tell  Lispeth  that  he  was  coming  back  to  marry 


LISPETH. 


1 1 

her.  She  is  but  a child  you  know,  and,  I fear,  at  heart  a 
heathen, ''  said  the  Chaplain^s  wife.  So  all  the  twelve  miles 
up  the  hill  the  Englishman,  with  his  arm  around  Lispeth's 
waist,  was  assuring  the  girl  that  he  would  come  back  and 
marry  her ; and  Lispeth  made  him  promise  over  and  over 
again.  She  wept  on  the  Narkunda  Ridge  till  he  had  passed 
out  of  sight  along  the  Muttiani  path. 

Then  she  dried  her  tears  and  went  in  to  Kotgarh 
again,  and  said  to  the  Chaplain’s  wife:  ''He  will  come 
back  and  marry  me.  He  has  gone  to  his  own  people  to 
tell  them  so.”  And  the  Chaplain’s  wife  soothed  Lispeth 
and  said  : "He  will  come  back.”  At  the  end  of  two 
months,  Lispeth  grew  impatient,  and  was  told  that  the 
Englishman  had  gone  over  the  seas  to  England.  She 
knew  where  England  was,  because  she  had  read  little 
geography  primers ; but,  of  course,  she  had  no  concep- 
tion of  the  nature  of  the  sea,  being  a Hill  girl.  There 
was  an  old  puzzle-map  of  the  World  in  the  house.  Lispeth 
had  played  with  it  when  she  was  a child.  She  unearthed 
it  again,  and  put  it  together  of  evenings,  and  cried  to  her- 
self, and  tried  to  imagine  where  her  Englishman  was.  As 
she  had  no  ideas  of  distance  or  steamboats,  her  notions 
were  somewhat  erroneous.  It  would  not  have  made  the 
least  difference  had  she  been  perfectly  correct ; for  the 
Englishman  had  no  intention  of  coming  back  to  marry  a 
Hill  girl.  He  forgot  all  about  her  by  the  time  he  was 
butterfly-hunting  in  Assam.  He  wrote  a book  on  the 
East  afterwards.  Lispeth’s  name  did  not  appear. 

At  the  end  of  three  months,  Lispeth  made  daily 
pilgrimage  to  Narkunda  to  see  if  her  Englishman  was 
coming  along  the  road.  It  gave  her  comfort,  and  the 
Chaplain’s  wife  finding  her  happier  thought  that  she  was 
getting  over  her  "barbarous  and  most  indelicate  folly.” 
A little  later  the  walks  ceased  to  help  Lisbeth  and  her 


12 


LIS  PETIT, 


temper  grew  very  bad.  The  Chaplain's  wife  thought  this 
a profitable  time  to  let  her  know  the  real  state  of  affairs — 
that  the  Englishman  had  only  promised  his  love  to  keep 
her  quiet — that  he  had  never  meant  anything,  and  that  it 
was  ‘‘wrong  and  improper"  of  Lispeth  to  think  of  mar- 
riage with  an  Englishman,  who  was  of  a superior  clay, 
besides  being  promised  in  marriage  to  a girl  of  his  own 
people.  Lispeth  said  that  all  this  was  clearly  impossible 
because  he  had  said  he  loved  her,  and  the  Chaplain's  wife 
had,  with  her  own  lips,  asserted  that  the  Englishman  was 
coming  back. 

“How  can  what  he  and  you  said  be  untrue asked 
Lispeth. 

“ We  said  it  as  an  excuse  to  keep  you  quiet,  child,"  said 
the  Chaplain's  wife. 

“Then  you  have  lied  to  me,"  said  Lispeth,  “you  and 
he.?'’ 

The  Chaplain's  wife  bowed  her  head,  and  said  nothing. 
Lispeth  was  silent,  too,  for  a little  time  ; then  she  went 
out  down  the  valley,  and  returned  in  the  dress  of  a 
Hill  girl — infamously  dirty,  but  without  the  nose  and 
ear  rings.  She  had  her  hair  braided  into  the  long  pig- 
tail, helped  out  with  black  thread,  that  Hill  women 
wear. 

“ I am  going  back  to  my  own  people,"  said  she.  “You 
have  killed  Lispeth.  There  is  only  left  old  Jadeh's  daugh- 
ter— the  daughter  of  a pahari^xiA  the  servant  of  Tarka  Devi, 
You  are  all  liars,  you  English." 

By  the  time  that  the  Chaplain's  wife  had  recovered  from 
the  shock  of  the  announcement  that  Lispeth  had  'verted  to 
her  mothers  gods,  the  girl  had  gone  ; and  she  never  came 
back. 

She  took  to  her  own  unclean  people  savagely,  as  if  to 
make  up  the  arrears  of  the  life  she  had  stepped  out  of ; 


LISPETH, 


13 


and,  in  a little  time,  she  married  a wood-cutter  who  beat 
her,  after  the  manner  of  paharis,  and  her  beauty  faded 
soon. 

‘‘There  is  no  law  whereby  you  can  account  for  the 
vagaries  of  the  heathen,'"  said  the  Chaplain's  wife,  “and 
I believe  that  Lispeth  was  always  at  heart  an  infidel.' 
Seeing  she  had  been  taken  into  the  Church  of  England  at 
the  mature  age  of  five  weeks,  this  statement  does  not  do 
credit  to  the  Chaplain's  wife. 

Lispeth  was  a very  old  woman  when  she  died.  She 
always  had  a perfect  command  of  English,  and  when  she 
was  sufficiently  drunk,  could  sometimes  be  induced  to  tell 
story  of  her  first  love-affair. 

It  was  hard  then  to  realize  that  the  bleared,  wrinkled 
creature,  so  like  a wisp  of  charred  rag,  could  ever  have 
been  “ Lispeth  of  the  Kotgarh  Mission." 


THREE  AND AN  EXTRA. 


T4 


THREE  AND AN  EXTRA. 


“When  halter  and  heel  ropes  are  slipped,  do  not  give  chase  with  sticki 
but  with gram.^' 


Ptmjabi  Proverb » 


After  marriage  arrives  a reaction,  sometimes  .a  big, 
sometimes  a little  one ; but  it  comes  sooner  or  later,  and 
must  be  tided  over  by  both  parties  if  they  desire  the  rest 
of  their  lives  to  go  with  the  current. 

In  the  case  of  the  Cusack-Bremmils  this  reaction  did 
not  set  in  till  the  third  year  after  the  wedding,  Bremmil 
was  hard  to  hold  at  the  best  of  times  ; but  he  was  a beau- 
tiful husband  until  the  baby  died  and  Mrs.  Bremmil  wore 
black,  and  grew  thin,  and  mourned  as  if  the  bottom  of 
the  Universe  had  fallen  out.  Perhaps  Bremmil  ought  to 
have  comforted  her.  He  tried  to  do  so,  I think  ; but  the 
more  he  comforted  the  more  Mrs.  Bremmil  grieved,  and, 
consequently,  the  more  uncomfortable  Bremmil  grew. 
The  fact  was  that  they  both  needed  a tonic.  And  they 
got  it.  Mrs.  Bremmil  can  afford  to  laugh  now,  but  it  was 
no  laughing  matter  to  her  at  the  time. 

You  see,  Mrs.  Hauksbee  appeared  on  the  horizon  ; and 
where  she  existed  was  fair  chance  of  trouble.  At  Simla 
her  bye-name  was  the  Stormy  Petrel.'’  She  had  won 
that  title  five  times  to  my  own  certain  knowledge.  She 
was  a little,  brown,  thin,  almost  skinny,  woman,  with 
big,  rolling,  violet-blue  eyes,  and  the  sweetest  manners 
in  the  world.  You  had  only  to  mention  her  name  at 
afternoon  teas  for  every  woman  in  the  room  to  rise  up, 
and  call  her — well — not  blessed.  She  was  clever,  witty, 


THREE  AND AN  EXTRA, 


15 


brilliant,  and  sparkling  beyond  most  of  her  kind  ; but 
possessed  of  many  devils  of  malice  and  mischievousness. 
She  could  be  nice,  though,  even  to  her  own  sex.  But 
that  is  another  story. 

Bremmil  went  off  at  score  after  the  baby's  death  and  the 
general  discomfort  that  followed,  and  Mrs.  Hauksbee 
annexed  him.  She  took  no  pleasure  in  hiding  her  captives. 
She  annexed  him  publicly,  and  saw  that  the  public  saw 
it.  He  rode  with  her,  and  walked  with  her,  and  talked 
with  her,  and  picnicked  with  her,  and  tiffined  at  Peliti's 
with  her,  till  people  put  up  their  eyebrows  and  said  : 
“Shocking!"  Mrs.  Bremmil  stayed  at  home  turning 
over  the  dead  baby’s  frocks  and  crying  into  the  empty 
cradle.  She  did  not  care  to  do  anything  else.  But  some 
eight  dear,  affectionate  lady-friends  explained  the  situation 
at  length  to  her  in  case  she  should  miss  the  cream  of  it. 
Mrs.  Bremmil  listened  quietly,  and  thanked  them  for  their 
good  offices.  She  was  not  as  clever  as  Mrs.  Hauksbee, 
but  she  was  no  fool.  She  kept  her  own  counsel,  and  did 
not  speak  to  Bremmil  of  what  she  had  heard.  This  is 
worth  remembering.  Speaking  to,  or  crying  over,  a 
husband  never  did  any  good  yet. 

When  Bremmil  was  at  home,  which  was  not  often,  he 
was  more  affectionate  than  usual ; and  that  showed  his 
hand.  The  affection  was  forced  partly  to  soothe  his  own 
conscience  and  partly  to  soothe  Mrs.  Bremmil.  It  failed 
in  both  regards. 

Then  “the  A.-D.-C.  in  Waiting  was  commanded  by 
Their  Excellencies,  Lord  and  Lady  Lytton,  to  invite  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Cusack-Bremmil  to  Peterhoff  on  July  26th  at  9-30 
P. M.” — “ Dancing"  in  the  bottom-left-hand  corner. 

“ I can't  go,"  said  Mrs.  Bremmil,  “it  is  too  soon 
after  poor  little  Florrie  . . • . but  it  need  not  stop  you, 
Tom/’ 


i6 


THREE  AND AN  EXTRA. 


She  meant  what  she  said  then,  and  Bremmil  said  that 
he  would  go  just  to  put  in  an  appearance.  Here  he 
spoke  the  thing  which  was  not ; and  Mrs.  Bremmil  knew 
it.  She  guessed — a woman’s  guess  is  much  more  accu- 
rate than  a man’s  certainty — that  he  had  meant  to  go 
from  the  first,  and  with  Mrs.  Hauksbee.  She  sat  dowm 
to  think,  and  the  outcome  of  her  thoughts  was  that  the 
memory  of  a dead  child  was  worth  considerably  less 
than  the  affections  of  a living  husband.  She  made  her 
plan  and  staked  her  all  upon  it.  In  that  hour  she  dis- 
covered that  she  knew  Tom  Bremmil  thoroughly,  and 
this  knowledge  she  acted  on. 

‘‘  Tom,”  said  she,  “I  shall  be  dining  out  at  the  Long- 
mores’  on  the  evening  of  the  26th.  You’d  better  dine  at 
at  the  Club.” 

This  saved  Bremmil  from  making  an  excuse  to  get  away 
and  dine  with  Mrs.  Hauksbee,  so  he  was  grateful,  and 
felt  small  and  mean  at  the  same  time — which  was  whole- 
some. Bremmil  left  the  house  at  five  for  a ride.  About 
half-past  five  in  the  evening  a large  leather-covered  basket 
came  in  from  Phelps’  for  Mrs.  Bremmil.  She  was  a 
woman  who  knew  how  to  dress  ; and  she  had  not  spent 
a week  on  designing  that  dress  and  having  it  gored,  and 
hemmed,  and  herring-boned,  and  tucked  and  rucked  (or 
whatever  the  terms  are),  for  nothing.  It  was  a gorgeous 
dress — slight  mourning.  I can’t  describe  it,  but  it  was 
what  ITie  Queen  calls  ''  a creation  ” — a thing  that  hit  you 
straight  between  the  eyes  and  made  you  gasp.  She  had 
not  much  heart  for  what  she  was  going  to  do ; but  as  she 
glanced  at  the  long  mirror  she  had  the  satisfaction  of 
knowing  that  she  had  never  looked  so  well  in  her  life. 
She  was  a large  blonde  and,  when  she  chose,  carried  her- 
self superbly. 

After  the  dinner  at  the  Longmores,  she  went  on  to  the 


THREE  AND AN  EXTRA, 


17 

dance — a little  late — and  encountered  Bremmil  with  Mrs. 
Hauksbee  on  his  arm.  That  made  her  flush,  and  as  the 
men  crowded  round  her  for  dances  she  looked  magnifi- 
cent She  filled  up  all  her  dances  except  three,  and  those 
she  left  blank.  Mrs.  Hauksbee  caught  her  eye  once  ; and 
she  knew  it  was  war — real  war — between  them.  She 
started  handicapped  in  the  struggle,  for  she  had  ordered 
Bremmil  about  just  the  least  little  bit  in  the  world  too 
much  ; and  he  was  beginning  to  resent  it  Moreover,  he 
had  never  seen  bis  wife  look  so  lovely.  He  stared  at  her 
from  doorways,  and  glared  at  her  from  passages  as  she 
went  about  with  her  partners ; and  the  more  he  stared, 
the  more  taken  was  he.  He  could  scarcely  believe  that 
this  was  the  woman  with  the  red  eyes  and  the  black  stuff 
gown  who  used  to  weep  over  the  eggs  at  breakfast 

Mrs.  Hauksbee  did  her  best  to  hold  him  in  play  but, 
after  two  dances,  he  crossed  over  to  his  wife  and  asked 
for  a dance. 

‘‘  Tm  afraid  youVe  come  too  late.  Mister  Bremmil,''  she 
said  with  her  eyes  twinkling. 

Then  he  begged  her  to  give  him  a dance,  and,  as  a 
great  favor,  she  allowed  him  the  fifth  waltz.  Luckily 
5 stood  vacant  on  his  programme.  They  danced  it 
together,  and  there  was  a little  flutter  round  the  room. 
Bremmil  had  a sort  of  a notion  that  his  wife  could 
dance,  but  he  never  knew  she  danced  so  divinely.  At 
the  end  of  that  waltz  he  asked  for  another — as  a favor, 
not  as  a right ; and  Mrs.  Bremmil  said  : ‘'Show  me 
your  programme,  dear  ! " He  showed  it  as  a naughty 
little  schoolboy  hands  up  contraband  sweets  to  a master. 
There  was  a fair  sprinkling  of  “ H " on  it,  besides  “ H " 
at  supper.  Mrs.  Bremmil  said  nothing,  but  she  smiled 
contemptuously,  ran  her  pencil  through  7 and  9 — two 

“ H's " — and  returned  the  card  with  her  own  name 

i 


i8 


THREE  AND AN  EXTRA. 


written  above — a pet  name  that  only  she  and  her  husband 
used.  Then  she  shook  her  finger  at  him,  and  said,  laugh- 
ing : ‘‘Oh  you  silly,  silly  boy  ! 

Mrs.  Hauksbee  heard  that,  and — she  owned  as  much — 
felt  she  had  the  worst  of  it.  Bremmil  accepted  7 and  9 
gratefully.  They  danced  7,  and  sat  out  9 in  one  of  the 
little  tents.  What  Bremmil  said  and  what  Mrs.  Bremmil 
did  is  no  concern  of  any  one's. 

When  the  band  struck  up  “The  Roast  Beef  of  Old 
England,"  the  two  went  out  into  the  verandah,  and 
Bremmil  began  looking  for  his  wife's  dandy  (this  was 
before  'rickshaw  days)  while  she  went  into  the  cloak- 
room. Mrs.  Hauksbee  came  up  and  said:  “You  take 
me  into  supper,  I think,  Mr.  Bremmil " Bremmil  turned 
red  and  looked  foolish:  “Ah — h’m  ! Tm  going  home 
with  my  wife,  Mrs.  Hauksbee.  I think  there  has  been  a 
little  mistake."  Being  a man,  he  spoke  as  though  Mrs. 
Hauksbee  were  entirely  responsible. 

Mrs.  Bremmil  came  out  of  the  cloak-room  in  a swans- 
down  cloak  with  a white  “ cloud  " round  her  head.  She 
looked  radiant ; and  she  had  a right  to. 

The  couple  went  off  into  the  darkness  together,  Brem- 
mil riding  very  close  to  the  dandy. 

Then  says  Mrs.  Hauksbee  to  me — she  looked  a trifle 
faded  and  jaded  in  the  lamplight:  “Take  my  word  for 
it,  the  silliest  women  can  manage  a clever  man  ; but  it 
needs  a very  clever  woman  to  manage  a fooL  " 

Then  we  went  in  to  supper. 


THROWN  AWAY. 


THROWN  AWAY. 

*‘And  some  are  sulky,  while  some  will  plunge 
[6’^?  ho  ! Steady  ! Stand  stilly  you  ! ] 

Some  you  must  gentle,  and  some  you  must  lunge. 

[ There  ! There  ! Who  wants  to  kill  you  ? ] 

Some — there  are  losses  in  every  trade — 

Will  break  their  hearts  ere  bitted  and  made, 

Will  fight  like  fiends  as  the  rope  cuts  hard. 

And  die  dumb-mad  in  the  breaking-yard.” 

Toolungala  Stockyard  Chorus. 

To  rear  a boy  under  what  parents  call  the  ‘‘sheltered 
life  system ''  is,  if  the  boy  must  go  into  the  world  and 
fend  for  himself,  not  wise.  Unless  he  be  one  in  a thou- 
and  he  has  certainly  to  pass  through  many  unneces- 
sary troubles  ; and  may,  possibly,  come  to  extreme  grief 
simply  from  ignorance  of  the  proper  proportions  of 
things. 

Let  a puppy  eat  the  soap  in  the  bath-room  or  chew  a 
newly-blacked  boot.  He  chews  and  chuckles  until,  by 
and  by,  he  finds  out  that  blacking  and  Old  Brown 
Windsor  make  him  very  sick  ; so  he  argues  that  soap 
and  boots  are  not  wholesome.  Any  old  dog  about  the 
house  will  soon  show  him  the  unwisdom  of  biting  big 
dogs'  ears.  Being  young,  he  remembers  and  goes  abroad, 
at  six  months,  a well-mannered  little  beast  with  a chast- 
ened appetite.  If  he  had  been  kept  away  from  boots, 
and  soap,  and  big  dogs  till  he  came  to  the  trinity  full- 
grown  and  with  developed  teeth,  just  consider  how 
fearfully  sick  and  thrashed  he  would  be  ! Apply  that 
motion  to  the  “sheltered  life,"  and  see  how  it  works. 
It  does  not  sound  pretty,  but  it  is  the  better  of  two  evils. 


20 


THROWN  AWAY. 


There  was  a Boy  once  who  had  been  brought  up  under 
the  ‘‘sheltered  life ''theory  ; and  the  theory  killed  him 
dead.  He  stayed  with  his  people  all  his  days,  from  the 
hour  he  was  born  till  the  hour  he  went  into  Sandhurst 
nearly  at  the  top  of  the  list.  He  was  beautifully  taught 
in  all  that  wins  marks  by  a private  tutor,  and  carried  the 
extra  weight  of  “never  having  given  his  parents  an  hour's 
anxiety  in  his  life."  What  he  learnt  at  Sandhurst  beyond 
the  regular  routine  is  of  no  great  consequence.  He  looked 
about  him,  and  he  found  soap  and  blacking,  so  to  speak, 
very  good.  He  ate  a little,  and  came  out  of  Sandhurst 
not  so  high  as  he  went  in.  Then  there  was  an  interval  and 
a scene  with  his  people,  who  expected  much  from  him. 
Next  a year  of  living  “unspotted  from  the  world  " in  a 
third-rate  depot  battalion  where  all  the  juniors  were 
children,  and  all  the  seniors  old  women  ; and  lastly  he 
came  out  to  India  where  he  was  cut  off  from  the  support 
of  his  parents,  and  had  no  one  to  fall  back  on  in  time  of 
trouble  except  himself. 

Now  India  is  a place  beyoud  all  others  where  one 
must  not  take  things  too  seriously — the  mid-day  sun 
always  excepted.  Too  much  work  and  too  much  en- 
ergy kill  a man  just  as  effectively  as  too  much  assorted 
vice  or  too  much  drink.  Flirtation  does  not  matter, 
because  every  one  is  being  transferred  and  either  you 
or  she  leave  the  Station,  and  never  return.  Good  work 
does  not  matter,  because  a man  is  judged  by  his  worst 
output  and  another  man  takes  all  the  credit  of  his  best 
as  a rule.  Bad  work  does  not  matter,  because  other 
men  do  worse  and  incompetents  hang  on  longer  in  India 
than  anywhere  else.  Amusements  do  not  matter,  be- 
cause you  must  repeat  them  as  soon  as  you  have  accom- 
plished them  once,  and  most  amusements  only  mean 
trying  to  win  another  person's  money.  Sickness  does 


THROWN'  A WA  Y. 


21 


not  matter,  because  it’s  all  in  the  day’s  work,  and  if 
you  die  another  man  takes  over  your  place  and  your 
office  in  the  eight  hours  between  death  and  burial. 
Nothing  matters  except  Home-furlough  and  acting  al- 
lowances, and  these  only  because  they  are  scarce.  This 
is  a slack,  kulcha  country  where  all  men  work  with  im- 
perfect instruments  ; and  the  wisest  thing  is  to  take  no 
one  and  nothing  in  earnest,  but  to  escape  as  soon  as  ever 
you  can  to  some  place  where  amusement  is  amusement 
and  a reputation  worth  the  having. 

But  this  Boy — the  tale  is  as  old  as  the  Hills — came 
out,  and  took  all  things  seriously.  He  was  pretty  and 
was  petted.  He  took  the  pettings  seriously,  and  fretted 
over  women  not  worth  saddling  a pony  to  call  upon. 
He  found  his  new  free  life  in  India  very  good.  It  does 
look  attractive  in  the  beginning,  from  a Subaltern’s 
point  of  view — all  ponies,  partners,  dancing,  and  so  on. 
He  tasted  it  as  the  puppy  tastes  the  soap.  Only  he 
came  late  to  the  eating,  with  a grown  set  of  teeth  He 
had  no  sense  of  balance — ^just  like  the  puppy — and 
could  not  understand  why  he  was  not  treated  with  the 
consideration  he  received  under  his  father’s  roof.  This 
hurt  his  feelings. 

He  quarrelled  with  other  boys  and,  being  sensitive  to 
the  marrow,  remembered  these  quarrels,  and  they  excited 
him.  He  found  whist,  and  gymkhanas,  and  things  of 
that  kind  (meant  to  amuse  one  after  office)  good  ; 
but  he  took  them  seriously  too,  just  as  seriously  as  he 
took  the  ‘‘  head  ” that  followed  after  drink.  He  lost  his 
money  over  whist  and  gymkhanas  because  they  were 
new  to  him. 

He  took  his  losses  seriously,  and  wasted  as  much 
energy  and  interest  over  a two-goldmohur  race  for 
maiden  e^^a-ponies  with  their  manes  hogged,  as  if  it  had 


22 


THROWJ^  AWAY, 


been  the  Derby.  One  half  of  this  came  from  inex- 
perience— much  as  the  puppy  Squabbles  with  the  corner 
of  the  hearthrug — and  the  other  half  from  the  dizziness 
bred  by  stumbling  out  of  his  quiet  life  into  the  glare 
and  excitement  of  a livelier  one.  No  one  told  him 
about  the  soap  and  the  blacking,  because  an  average  man 
takes  it  for  granted  that  an  average  man  is  ordinarily 
careful  in  regard  to  them.  It  was  pitiful  to  watch  The 
Boy  knocking  himself  to  pieces,  as  an  over-handled  colt 
falls  down  and  cuts  himself  when  he  gets  away  from 
the  groom. 

This  unbridled  license  in  amusements  not  worth  the 
trouble  of  breaking  line  for,  much  less  rioting  over,  endured 
for  six  months — all  through  one  cold  weather — and  then 
we  thought  that  the  heat  and  the  knowledge  of  having 
lost  his  money  and  health  and  lamed  his  horses  would 
sober  The  Boy  down,  and  he  would  stand  steady.  In 
ninety-nine  cases  out  of  a hundred  this  would  have  hap- 
pened. You  can  see  the  principle  working  in  any  Indian 
Station.  But  this  particular  case  fell  through  because  The 
Boy  was  sensitive  and  took  things  seriously — as  I may 
have  said  some  seven  times  before.  Of  course,  we  couldn’t 
tell  how  his  excesses  struck  him  personally.  They  were 
nothing  very  heart-breaking  or  above  the  average.  He 
might  be  crippled  for  life  financially,  and  want  a little 
nursing.  Still  the  memory  of  his  performances  would 
wither  away  in  one  hot  weather,  and  the  shroff  would  help 
him  to  tide  over  the  money-troubles.  But  he  must  have 
taken  another  view  altogether  and  have  believed  himself 
ruined  beyond  redemption.  His  Colonel  talked  to  him 
severely  when  the  cold  weather  ended.  That  made  him 
more  wretched  than  ever  ; and  it  was  only  an  ordinary 
‘‘Colonel’s  wigging”  1 

What  follows  is  a curious  instance  of  the  fashion  in 


THROWJ\r  AWAY. 


n 


which  we  are  all  linked  together  and  made  responsible  for 
one  another.  The  thing  that  kicked  the  beam  in  The 
Boy's  mind  was  a remark  that  a woman  made  when  he 
was  talking  to  her.  There  is  no  use  in  repeating  it,  for  it 
was  only  a cruel  little  sentence,  rapped  out  before  think- 
ing, that  made  him  flush  to  the  roots  of  his  hair.  He  kept 
himself  to  himself  for  three  days,  and  then  put  in  for  two 
days'  leave  to  go  shooting  near  a Canal  Engineer's  Rest 
House  about  thirty  miles  out.  He  got  his  leave,  and  that 
night  at  Mess  was  noisier  and  more  offensive  than  ever. 
He  said  that  he  was  '‘going  to  shoot  big  game,"  and  left 
at  half-past  ten  o’clock  in  an  ekka.  Partridge — which  was 
the  only  thing  a man  could  get  near  the  Rest  House — is 
not  big  game  ; so  every  one  laughed. 

Next  morning  one  of  the  Majors  came  in  from  short 
leave,  and  heard  that  The  Boy  had  gone  out  to  shoot  " big 
game."  The  Major  had  taken  an  interest  in  The  Boy,  and 
had,  more  than  once,  tried  to  check  him  in  the  cold 
weather.  The  Major  put  up  his  eyebrows  when  he  heard 
of  the  expedition  and  went  to  The  Boy's  rooms,  where  he 
rummaged. 

Presently  he  came  out  and  found  me  leaving  cards  on 
the  Mess.  There  was  no  one  else  in  the  ante-room. 

He  said:  " The  Boy  has  gone  out  shooting.  Does  a man 
shoot  ietur  with  a revolver  and  a writing-case  ! " 

I said  : " Nonsense,  Major  ! " for  I saw  what  was  in  his 
mind. 

He  said  : "Nonsense  or  no  nonsense.  I'm  going  to  the 
Canal  now — at  once.  I don’t  feel  easy." 

Then  he  thought  for  a minute,  and  said:  "Can  you 
lie .? " 

" You  know  best,"  I answered.  " It's  my  profession.'^ 

"Very  well,"  said  the  Major;  "you  must  come  out 
with  me  now — at  once — in  an  ekka  to  the  Canal  to  shoot 


24 


THROWN  AWAY, 


black-buck.  Go  and  put  on  shikar~k.\i — quick — and  drive 
here  with  a gun. 

The  Major  was  a masterful  man  ; and  I knew  that  he 
would  not  give  orders  for  nothing.  So  I obeyed,  and  on 
return  found  the  Major  packed  up  in  an  ekka — gun-cases 
and  food  slung  below — all  ready  for  a shooting-trip. 

He  dismissed  the  driver  and  drove  himself.  We 
jogged  along  quietly  while  in  the  station  ; but  as  soon 
as  we  got  to  the  dusty  road  across  the  plains,  he 
made  that  pony  fly.  A country-bred  can  do  nearly 
anything  at  a pinch.  We  covered  the  thirty  miles  in 
under  three  hours,  but  the  poor  brute  was  nearly  dead. 

Once  I said: — Whafs  the  blazing  hurry.  Major.?’" 

He  said,  quietly  : ‘‘The  Boy  has  been  alone,  by  him- 
self for — one,  two,  five, — fourteen  hours  now  ! I tell  you, 
I don't  feel  easy.” 

This  uneasiness  spread  itself  to  me,  and  I helped  to 
beat  the  pony. 

When  we  came  to  the  Canal  Engineer’s  Rest  House 
the  Major  called  for  The  Boy’s  servant  ; but  there  was 
no  answer.  Then  we  went  up  to  the  house,  calling  for 
The  Boy  by  name  ; but  there  was  no  answer. 

“ Oh,  he’s  out  shooting,”  said  I. 

Just  then,  I saw  through  one  of  the  windows  a little 
hurricane-lamp  burning.  This  was  at  four  in  the  after- 
noon. We  both  stopped  dead  in  the  verandah,  holding 
our  breath  to  catch  every  sound  ; and  we  heard,  inside 
the  room,  the  “ hrr — hrr — hrr''  of  a multitude  of  flies. 
The  Major  said  nothing,  but  he  took  off  his  helmet 
and  we  entered  very  softly. 

The  Boy  was  dead  on  the  charpoy  in  the  centre  of 
the  bare,  lime-washed  room.  He  had  shot  his  head 
nearly  to  pieces  with  his  revolver.  The  gun-cases  were 
still  strapped,  so  was  the  bedding,  and  on  the  table  lay 


THROWN  AWAY. 


25 

The  Boy's  writing-case  with  photographs.  He  had 
gone  away  to  die  like  a poisoned  rat! 

The  Major  said  to  himself  softly  : — Poor  Boy  ! 
Poor,  poor  devil  1 " Then  he  turned  away  from  the  bed 
and  said  : — I want  your  help  in  this  business.” 

Knowing  The  Boy  was  dead  by  his  own  hand,  I saw 
exactly  what  that  help  would  be,  so  I passed  over  to 
the  table,  took  a chair,  lit  a cheroot,  and  began  to  go 
through  the  writing-case ; the  Major  looking  over  my 
shoulder  and  repeating  to  himself:  “We  came  too 
late  1 — Like  a rat  in  a hole  1 — Poor,  poor  devil  ! ” 

The  Boy  must  have  spent  half  the  night  in  writing  to 
his  people,  to  his  Colonel,  and  to  a girl  at  Home  ; and  as 
soon  as  he  had  finished,  must  have  shot  himself,  for  he 
had  been  dead  a long  time  when  we  came  in. 

I read  all  that  he  had  written,  and  passed  over  each 
sheet  to  the  Major  as  I finished  it. 

We  saw  from  his  accounts  how  very  seriously  he  had 
taken  everything.  He  wrote  about  “ disgrace  which 
he  was  unable  to  bear  ” — “ indelible  shame” — “ criminal 
folly” — “wasted  life,”  and  so  on;  besides  a lot  of 
private  things  to  his  Father  and  Mother  much  too 
sacred  to  put  into  print.  The  letter  to  the  girl  at 
Home  was  the  most  pitiful  of  all ; and  I choked  as  I 
read  it.  The  Major  made  no  attempt  to  keep  dry- 
eyed. I respected  him  for  that.  He  read  and  rocked 
himself  to  and  fro,  and  simply  cried  like  a woman  with- 
out caring  to  hide  it.  The  letters  were  so  dreary  and 
hopeless  and  touching.  We  forgot  all  about  The  Boy's 
follies,  and  only  thought  of  the  poor  Thing  on  the 
charpoy  and  the  scrawled  sheets  in  our  hands.  It  was 
utterly  impossible  to  let  the  letters  go  Home.  They 
would  have  broken  his  Father's  heart  and  killed  his 
Mother  after  killing  her  belief  in  her  son. 


26 


THROWN  AWAY. 


At  last  the  Major  dried  his  eyes  openly,  and  said » 

Nice  sort  of  thing  to  spring  on  an  English  family  ! 
What  shall  we  do?’' 

I said,  knowing  what  the  Major  had  brought  me  out 
for  : — The  Boy  died  of  cholera.  We  were  with  him  at 
the  time.  We  can’t  commit  ourselves  to  half-measures. 
Come  along.’* 

Then  began  one  of  the  most  grimly  comic  scenes  I 
have  ever  taken  part  in — the  concoction  of  a big,  written 
lie,  bolstered  with  evidence,  to  soothe  The  Boy’s  people 
at  Home.  I began  the  rough  draft  of  the  letter,  the 
Major  throwing  in  hints  here  and  there  while  he  gathered 
up  all  the  stuff  that  The  Boy  had  written  and  burnt  it  in 
the  fire-place.  It  was  a hot,  still  evening  when  we  began, 
and  the  lamp  burned  very  badly.  In  due  course  I got 
the  draft  to  my  satisfaction,  setting  forth  how  The  Boy 
was  the  pattern  of  all  virtues,  beloved  by  his  regiment, 
with  every  promise  of  a great  career  before  him,  and  so 
on  ; how  we  had  helped  him  through  the  sickness — it 
was  no  time  for  little  lies  you  will  understand — and  how 
he  had  died  without  pain.  I choked  while  I was  putting 
down  these  things  and  thinking  of  the  poor  people  who 
would  read  them.  Then  I laughed  at  the  grotesqueness 
of  the  affair,  and  the  laughter  mixed  itself  up  with  the 
choke — and  the  Major  said  that  we  both  wanted  drinks. 

I am  afraid  to  say  how  much  whiskey  we  drank  before 
the  letter  was  finished.  It  had  not  the  least  effect  on  us. 
Then  we  took  off  The  Boy’s  watch,  locket,  and  rings. 

Lastly,  the  Major  said  : — “We  must  send  a lock  of  hair 
too.  A woman  values  that.^’ 

But  there  were  reasons  why  we  could  not  find  a lock 
fit  to  send.  The  Boy  was  black-haired,  and  so  was  the 
Major,  luckily.  I cut  off  a piece  of  the  Major’s  hair 
above  the  temple  with  a knife,  and  put  it  into  the  packet 


THROWN  AWAY. 


27 


we  were  making.  The  laughing-fit  and  the  chokes  got 
hold  of  me  again,  and  I had  to  stop.  The  Major  was 
nearly  as  bad  ; and  we  both  knew  that  the  worst  part  of 
the  work  was  to  come. 

We  sealed  up  the  packet,  photographs,  locket,  seals, 
ring,  letter,  and  lock  of  hair  with  The  Boy's  sealing-wax 
and  The  Boy's  seal. 

Then  the  Major  said  : — '‘For  God's  sake  let's  get  out- 
side— away  from  the  room — and  think  ! " 

We  went  outside,  and  walked  on  the  banks  of  the 
Canal  for  an  hour,  eating  and  drinking  what  we  had 
with  us,  until  the  moon  rose.  I know  now  exactly  how 
a murderer  feels.  Finally,  we  forced  ourselves  back  to 
the  room  with  the  lamp  and  the  Other  Thing  in  it,  and 
began  to  take  up  the  next  piece  of  work.  I am  not 
going  to  write  about  this.  It  was  too  horrible.  We 
burned  the  bedstead  and  dropped  the  ashes  into  the 
Canal  ; we  took  up  the  matting  of  the  room  and  treated 
that  in  the  same  way.  I went  off  to  a village  and  bor- 
rowed two  big  hoes, — I did  not  want  the  villagers  to 

help, — while  the  Major  arranged the  other  matters. 

It  took  us  four  hours'  hard  work  to  make  the  grave.  As 
we  worked,  we  argued  out  whether  it  was  right  to  say 
as  much  as  we  remembered  of  the  Burial  of  the  Dead. 
We  compromised  things  by  saying  the  Lord's  Prayer 
with. a private  unofficial  prayer  for  the  peace  of  the  soul 
of  The  Boy.  Then  we  filled  in  the  grave  and  went  into 
the  verandah — not  the  house — to  lie  down  to  sleep.  We 
were  dead-tired. 

When  we  woke  the  Major  said,  wearily  : — "We  can't 
go  back  till  to-morrow.  We  must  give  him  a decent  time 
to  die  in.  He  died  early  Ihis  morning,  remember.  That 
seems  more  natural."  So  the  Major  must  have  been 
lying  awake  all  the  time,  thinking. 


28 


THROWN  AWAY. 


I said: — ''Then  why  didn't  we  bring  the  body  back 
to  cantonments  ? " 

The  Major  thought  for  a minute  : — " Because  the 
people  bolted  when  they  heard  of  the  cholera.  And  the 
ehka  has  gone  ! " 

That  was  strictly  true.  We  had  forgotten  all  about 
the  ekka-Y^ony,  and  he  had  gone  home. 

So,  we  were  left  there  alone,  all  that  stifling  day,  in 
the  Canal  Rest  House,  testing  and  re-testing  our  story 
of  The  Boy's  death  to  see  if  it  was  weak  in  any  point. 
A native  turned  up  in  the  afternoon,  but  we  said  that  a 
Sahib  was  dead  of  cholera,  and  he  ran  away.  As  the 
dusk  gathered,  the  Major  told  me  all  his  fears  about 
The  Boy,  and  awful  stories  of  suicide  or  nearly-carried- 
out  suicide — tales  that  made  one's  hair  crisp.  He  said 
that  he  himself  had  once  gone  into  the  same  Valley 
of  the  Shadow  as  The  Boy,  when  he  was  young  and 
new  to  the  country  ; so  he  understood  how  things 
fought  together  in  The  Boy's  poor  jumbled  head.  He 
also  said  that  youngsters,  in  their  repentant  moments, 
consider  their  sins  much  more  serious  and  ineffaceable 
than  they  really  are.  We  talked  together  all  through 
the  evening  and  rehearsed  the  story  of  the  death  of  The 
Boy.  As  soon  as  the  moon  was  up,  and  The  Boy,  theo- 
retically, just  buried,  we  struck  across  country  for  the 
Station.  We  walked  from  eight  till  six  o'clock  in  the 
morning  ; but  though  we  were  dead-tired,  we  did  not 
forget  to  go  to  The  Boy's  rooms  and  put  away  his 
revolver  with  the  proper  amount  of  cartridges  in  the 
pouch.  Also  to  set  his  writing-case  on  the  table.  We 
found  the  Colonel  and  reported  the  death,  feeling  more 
like  murderers  than  ever.  Then  we  went  to  bed  and 
slept  the  clock  round ; for  there  was  no  more  in  us. 

The  tale  had  credence  as  long  as  was  necessary,  for 


THROWN  AWAY. 


29 


every  one  forgot  about  The  Boy  before  a fortnight  was 
over.  Many  people,  however,  found  time  to  say  that 
the  Major  had  behaved  scandalously  in  not  bringing  in 
the  body  for  a regimental  funeral.  The  saddest  thing  of 
all  was  the  letter  from  The  Boy’s  mother  to  the  Major 
and  me — with  big  inky  blisters  all  over  the  sheet.  She 
wrote  the  sweetest  possible  things  about  our  great  kind- 
ness, and  the  obligation  she  would  be  under  to  us  as 
long  as  she  lived. 

All  things  considered,  she  was  under  an  obligation  ; 
but  not  exactly  as  she  meant. 


30 


MISS  YOUGHAVS  SAIS. 


MISS  YOUGHAUS  SAIS. 

When  Man  and  Woman  are  agreed,  what  can  the  Kazi  do? 

Mahoniedan  Proverb, 

Some  people  say  that  there  is  no  romance  in  India. 
Those  people  are  wrong.  Our  lives  hold  quite  as  much 
romance  as  is  good  for  us.  Sometimes  more. 

Strickland  was  in  the  Police,  and  people  did  not  under- 
stand him  ; so  they  said  he  was  a doubtful  sort  of  a man 
and  passed  by  on  the  other  side.  Strickland  had  himself 
to  thank  for  this.  He  held  the  extraordinary  theory  that 
a Policeman  in  India  should  try  to  know  as  much  about 
the  natives  as  the  natives  themselves.  Now,  in  the  whole 
of  Upper  India,  there  is  only  one  man  who  can  pass  for 
Hindu  or  Mahommedan,  chamar  or  faquir,  as  he  pleases. 
He  is  feared  and  respected  by  the  natives  from  the  Ghor 
Kathri  to  the  Jamma  Musjid  ; and  he  is  supposed  to  have 
the  gift  of  invisibility  and  executive  control  over  many 
Devils.  But  what  good  has  this  done  him  with  the  Gov- 
ernment ? None  in  the  world.  He  has  never  got  Simla 
for  his  charge ; and  his  name  is  almost  unknown  to  English- 
men. 

Strickland  was  foolish  enough  to  take  that  man  for  his 
model  ; and,  following  out  his  absurd  theory,  dabbled  in 
unsavory  places  no  respectable  man  would  think  of 
exploring — all  among  the  native  riff-raff.  He  educated 
himself  in  this  peculiar  way  for  seven  years,  and  people 
could  not  appreciate  it.  He  was  perpetually  ''  going 
Fantee  among  natives,  which,  of  course,  no  man  with 


MISS  YOUGHAVS  SAIS. 


31 


any  sense  believes  in.  He  was  initiated  into  the  Sat  Bhai 
at  Allahabad  once,  when  he  was  on  leave  ; he  knew  the 
Lizard-Song  of  the  Sansis,  and  the  Hdlli-Hukk  dance,  which 
is  a religious  can-can  of  a startling  kind.  When  a man 
knows  who  dance  the  Hdlli-Hukk,  and  how,  and  when, 
and  where,  he  knows  something  to  be  proud  of.  He  has 
gone  deeper  than  the  skin.  But  Strickland  was  not  proud, 
though  he  had  helped  once,  at  Jagadhri,  at  the  Painting 
of  the  Death  Bull,  which  no  Englishman  must  even  look 
upon  ; had  mastered  the  thieves’-patter  of  the  chdngars  ; 
had  taken  a Eusufzai  horse-thief  alone  near  Attock  ; and 
had  stood  under  the  mimbar-ho^iTd  of  a Border  mosque  and 
conducted  service  in  the  manner  of  a Sunni  Mollah.  • 

His  crowning  achievement  was  spending  eleven  days 
as  a faquir  in  the  gardens  of  Baba  Atal  at  Amritsar,  and 
there  picking  up  the  threads  of  the  great  Nasiban 
Murder  Case.  But  people  said,  justly  enough  : — Why 
on  earth  can't  Strickland  sit  in  his  office  and  write  up 
his  diary,  and  recruit,  and  keep  quiet,  instead  of  showing 
up  the  incapacity  of  his  seniors  } " So  the  Nasiban 
Murder  Case  did  him  no  good  departmentally  ; but, 
after  his  first  feeling  of  wrath,  he  returned  to  his  out- 
landish custom  of  prying  into  native  life.  By  the  way 
when  a man  once  acquires  a taste  for  this  particular 
amusement,  it  abides  with  him  all  his  days.  It  is  the 
most  fascinating  thing  in  the  world  ; Love  not  excepted. 
Where  other  men  took  ten  days  to  the  Hills,  Strickland 
took  leave  for  what  he  called  shikar,  put  on  the  disguise 
that  appealed  to  him  at  the  time,  stepped  down  into  the 
brown  crowd,  and  was  swallowed  up  for  a while.  He 
was  a quiet,  dark  young  fellow — spare,  black-eyed — and, 
when  he  was  not  thinking  of  something  else,  a very 
interesting  companion.  Strickland  on  Native  Progress 
as  he  had  seen  it  was  worth  hearing.  Natives  hated 


32 


MISS  VOUGIIArS  SAIS. 


Strickland  ; but  they  were  afraid  of  him.  He  knew  too 
much. 

When  the  Youghals  came  into  the  station,  Strickland 
— very  gravely,  as  he  did  everything — fell  in  love  with 
Miss  Youghal ; and  she,  after  a while,  fell  in  love  with 
him  because  she  could  not  understand  him.  Then  Strick- 
land told  the  parents  ; but  Mrs.  Youghal  said  she  was 
not  going  to  throw  her  daughter  into  the  worst  paid 
Department  in  the  Empire,  and  old  Youghal  said,  in  so 
many  words,  that  he  mistrusted  Strickland’s  ways  and 
works,  and  would  thank  him  not  to  speak  or  write  to  his 
daughter  any  more.  ‘‘Very  well,”  said  Strickland,  for 
he  did  not  wish  to  make  his  lady-love’s  life  a burden. 
After  one  long  talk  with  Miss  Youghal  he  dropped  the 
business  entirely. 

The  Youghals  went  up  to  Simla  in  April. 

In  July,  Strickland  secured  three  months’  leave  on 
“ urgent  private  affairs.”  He  locked  up  his  house — 
though  not  a native  in  the  Province  would  wittingly  have 
touched  “ Estreekin  Sahib’s”  gear  for  the  world — and 
went  down  to  see  a friend  of  his,  an  old  dyer,  at  Tarn 
Taran. 

Here  all  trace  of  him  was  lost,  until  a sais  met  me  on 
the  Simla  Mall  with  this  extraordinary  note  : — 

‘ ‘ Dea7‘  old  man, 

Please  give  hearer  a box  of  cheeroots — 
Supers,  No.  i,  for  preference.  They  are  freshest  at  the 
Club,  ril  repay  when  I reappear  ; but  at  present  Tm  out 
of  Society, 

Yours, 

E.  Strickland.” 

I ordered  two  boxes,  and  handed  them  over  to  the  sais 
with  my  love.  That  sais  was  Strickland,  and  he  was  in 


MISS  YOUGHAVS  SAIS. 


33 


old  Youghars  employ,  attached  to  Miss  Youghahs  Arab. 
The  poor  fellow  was  suffering  for  an  English  smoke,  and 
knew  that  whatever  happened  I should  hold  my  tongue 
till  the  business  was  over. 

Later  on,  Mrs.  Youghal,  who  was  wrapped  up  in  her 
servants,  began  talking  at  houses  where  she  called  of  her 
paragon  among  satses — the  man  who  was  never  too  busy 
to  get  up  in  the  morning  and  pick  flowers  for  the  break- 
fast-table, and  who  blacked — actually  blacked — the  hoofs 
of  his  horse  like  a London  coachman  ! The  turnout  of 
Miss  Youghabs  Arab  was  a wonder  and  a delight. 
Strickland — Dulloo,Imean — found  his  reward  in  the  pretty 
things  that  Miss  Youghal  said  to  him  when  she  went 
out  riding.  Her  parents  were  pleased  to  find  she  had 
forgotten  all  her  foolishness  for  young  Strickland  and  said 
she  was  a good  girl. 

Strickland  vows  that  the  two  months  of  his  service 
were  the  most  rigid  mental  discipline  he  has  ever  gone 
through.  Quite  apart  from  the  little  fact  that  the  wife  of 
one  of  his  fellow-s<2fs^s  fell  in  love  with  him  and  then 
tried  to  poison  him  with  arsenic  because  he  would  have 
nothing  to  do  with  her,  he  had  to  school  himself  into 
keeping  quiet  when  Miss  Youghal  went  out  riding  with 
some  man  who  tried  to  flirt  with  her,  and  he  was  forced 
to  trot  behind  carrying  the  blanket  and  hearing  every 
word  ! Also,  he  had  to  keep  his  temper  when  he  was 
slanged  in  ‘'Benmore''  porch  by  a policeman — especially 
once  when  he  was  abused  by  a Naik  he  had  himself 
recruited  from  Isser  Jang  village — or,  worse  still,  when 
a young  subaltern  called  him  a pig  for  not  making  way 
quickly  enough. 

But  the  life  had  its  compensations.  He  obtained  great 
insight  into  the  ways  and  thefts  of  saises — enough  he 
says  to  have  summarily  convicted  half  the  chamdr  popu- 


34 


MISS  YOUGHAVS  SAIS. 


lation  of  the  Punjab  if  he  had  been  on  business.  He 
became  one  of  the  leading  players  at  knuckle-bones, 
which  all  jhampdnis  and  many  saises  play  while  they  are 
waiting  outside  the  Government  House  or  the  Gaiety 
Theatre  of  nights  ; he  learned  to  smoke  tobacco  that  was 
three-fourths  cowdung  ; and  he  heard  the  wisdom  of  the 
grizzled  Jemadar  of  the  Government  House  saises.  Whose 
words  are  valuable.  He  saw  many  things  which  amused 
him  ; and  he  states,  on  honor,  that  no  man  can  ap- 
preciate Simla  properly,  till  he  has  seen  it  from  the 
sais's  point  of  view.  He  also  says  that,  if  he  chose 
to  write  all  he  saw,  his  head  would  be  broken  in  several 
places. 

Strickland's  account  of  the  agony  he  endured  on  wet 
nights,  hearing  the  music  and  seeing  the  lights  in  ''Ben- 
more,"  with  his  toes  tingling  for  a waltz  and  his  head  in 
a horse-blanket,  is  rather  amusing.  One  of  these  days, 
Strickland  is  going  to  write  a little  book  on  his  expe- 
riences. That  book  will  be  worth  buying ; and  even  more 
worth  suppressing. 

Thus,  he  served  faithfully  as  Jacob  served  for  Rachel  ; 
and  his  leave  was  nearly  at  an  end  when  the  explosion 
came.  He  had  really  done  his  best  to  keep  his  temper 
in  the  hearing  of  the  flirtations  I have  mentioned  ; but 
he  broke  down  at  last.  An  old  and  very  distinguished 
General  took  Miss  Youghal  for  a ride,  and  began  that 
specially  offensive  “ you're-only- a- little- girl  " sort  of 
flirtation — most  difficult  for  a woman  to  turn  aside 
deftly,  and  most  maddening  to  listen  to.  Miss  Youghal 
was  shaking  with  fear  at  the  things  he  said  in  the  hearing 
of  her  sais.  Dulloo — Strickland — stood  it  as  long  as 
he  could.  Then  he  caught  hold  of  the  General’s  bridle, 
and,  in  most  fluent  English,  invited  him  to  step  off 
^nd  be  heaved  over  the  cliff.  Next  minute,  Miss 


M/SS  YOUGHAVS  SAIS. 


35 


Youghal  began  crying  ; and  Strickland  saw  that  he  had 
hopelessly  given  himself  away,  and  everything  was  over. 

The  General  nearly  had  a fit,  while  Miss  Youghal 
was  sobbing  out  the  story  of  the  disguise  and  the 
engagement  that  wasn’t  recognized  by  the  parents. 
Strickland  was  furiously  angry  with  himself  and  more 
angry  with  the  General  for  forcing  his  hand  : so  he  said 
nothing,  but  held  the  horse's  head  and  prepared  to 
thrash  the  General  as  some  sort  of  satisfaction,  but 
when  the  General  had  thoroughly  grasped  the  story,  and 
knew  who  Strickland  was,  he  began  to  puff  and  blow  in 
the  saddle,  and  nearly  rolled  off  with  laughing.  He  said 
Strickland  deserved  a V.  C. , if  it  were  only  for  putting  on 
a sais's  blanket.  Then  he  called  himself  names,  and 
vowed  that  he  deserved  a thrashing,  but  he  was  too  old 
to  take  it  from  Strickland.  Then  he  complimented  Miss 
Youghal  on  her  lover.  The  scandal  of  the  business  never 
struck  him  ; for  he  was  a nice  old  man,  with  a weakness 
for  flirtations.  Then  he  laughed  again,  and  said  that  old 
Youghal  was  a fool.  Strickland  let  go  of  the  cob's  head, 
and  suggested  that  the  General  had  better  help  them,  if 
that  was  his  opinion.  Strickland  knew  Youghal's  weak- 
ness for  men  with  titles  and  letters  after  their  names  and 
high  official  position.  ‘Ht’s  rather  like  a forty-minute 
farce,"  said  the  General,  ‘‘but,  begad,  \will  help,  if  it's 
only  to  escape  that  tremendous  thrashing  I deserved.  Go 
along  to  your  home,  my  5<2f5-Policeman,  and  change  into 
decent  kit,  and  I'll  attack  Mr.  Youghal.  Miss  Youghal, 
may  I ask  you  to  canter  home  and  wait?  " 


About  seven  minutes  later,  there  was  a wild  hurroosh 
at  the  Club.  A sais,  with  blanket  and  head-rope,  was  ask- 
ing all  the  men  he  knew  : “For  Heaven's  sake  lend  me 
decent  clothes  ! " As  the  men  did  not  recognize  him,  there 


MISS  YOUGHAVS  SAIS. 


50 

were  some  peculiar  scenes  before  Strickland  could  get  a 
hot  bath,  with  soda  in  it,  in  one  room,  a shirt  here,  a col- 
lar there,  a pair  of  trousers  elsewhere,  and  so  on.  He  gak 
loped  off,  with  half  the  Club  wardrobe  on  his  back,  and 
an  utter  stranger's  pony  under  him,  to  the  house  of  old 
Youghal.  The  General,  arrayed  in  purple  and  fine  linen, 
was  before  him.  What  the  General  had  said  Strickland 
never  knew,  but  Youghal  received  Strickland  with  moder- 
ate civility;  and  Mrs.  Youghal,  touched  by  the  devotion 
of  the  transformed  Dulloo,  was  almost  kind.  The  Gen- 
eral beamed  and  chuckled,  and  Miss  Youghal  came  in, 
and,  alrhost  before  old  Youghal  knew  where  he  was,  the 
parental  consent  had  been  wrenched  out,  and  Strickland 
had  departed  with  Miss  Youghal  to  the  Telegraph  Office 
to  wire  for  his  kit.  The  final  embarrassment  was  when 
an  utter  stranger  attacked  him  on  the  Mall  and  asked  for 
the  stolen  pony. 

So,  in  the  end,  Strickland  and  Miss  Youghal  were  mar- 
ried, on  the  strict  understanding  that  Strickland  should 
drop  his  old  ways,  and  stick  to  Departmental  routine  which 
pays  best  and  leads  to  Simla.  Strickland  was  far  too  fond 
of  his  wife,  just  then,  to  break  his  word,  but  it  was  a sore 
trial  to  him  ; for  the  streets  and  the  bazars,  and  the  sounds 
in  them,  were  full  of  meaning  to  Strickland,  and  these  called 
to  him  to  come  back  and  take  up  his  wanderings  and  his 
discoveries.  Some  day,  I will  tell  you  how  he  broke  his 
promise  to  help  a friend.  That  was  long  since,  and  he  has, 
by  this  time,  been  nearly  spoilt  for  what  he  would  call 
shikar.  He  is  forgetting  the  slang,  and  the  beggars  cant, 
and  the  marks,  and  the  signs,  and  the  drift  of  the  under- 
currents, which,  if  a man  would  master,  he  must  always 
continue  to  learn. 

But  he  fills  in  his  Departmental  returns  beautifully. 


YOKED  WITH  AN  unbeliever:^ 


37 


YOKED  WITH  AN  UNBELIEVER.” 

I am  dying  for  you,  and  you  are  dying  for  another. 

Punjabi  Proverb, 

When  the  Gravesend  tender  left  the  P.  & O.  steamer 
for  Bombay  and  went  back  to  catch  the  train  to  Town, 
there  were  many  people  in  it  crying.  But  the  one  who 
wept  most,  and  most  openly,  was  Miss  Agnes  Laiter. 
She  had  reason  to  cry,  because  the  only  man  she  ever 
loved — or  ever  could  love,  so  she  said — was  going  out  to 
India ; and  India,  as  every  one  knows,  is  divided  equally 
between  jungle,  tigers,  cobras,  cholera,  and  sepoys. 

Phil  Garron,  leaning  over  the  side  of  the  steamer  in 
the  rain,  felt  very  unhappy  too  ; but  he  did  not  cry. 
He  was  sent  out  to  ‘"tea.”  What  ‘‘tea”  meant  he  had 
not  the  vaguest  idea,  but  fancied  that  he  would  have  to 
ride  on  a prancing  horse  over  hills  covered  with  tea- 
vines,  and  draw  a sumptuous  salary  for  doing  so  ; and 
he  was  very  grateful  to  his  uncle  for  getting  him  the 
berth.  He  was  really  going  to  reform  all  his  slack, 
shiftless  ways,  save  a large  proportion  of  his  magnifi- 
cent salary  yearly,  and,  in  a very  short  time,  return  to 
marry  Agnes  Laiter.  Phil  Garron  had  been  lying  loose 
on  his  friends  hands  for  three  years,  and,  as  he  had 
nothing  to  do,  he  naturally  fell  in  love.  He  was  very 
nice  ; but  he  was  not  strong  in  his  views  and  opinions 
and  principles,  and  though  he  never  came  to  actual 
grief  his  friends  were  thankful  when  he  said  good-bye, 
and  went  out  to  this  mysterious  “tea”  business  near 


38  “ YOKED  WITH  AN  UNBELIEVER:'^ 

Darjiling’.  They  said: — ‘‘God  bless  you,  dear  hoy\ 
Let  us  never  see  your  face  again,’' — or  at  least  that  was 
what  Phil  was  given  to  understand. 

When  he  sailed,  he  was  very  full  of  a great  plan  to 
prove  himself  several  hundred  times  better  than  any  one 
had  given  him  credit  for — to  work  like  a horse,  and 
triumphantly  marry  Agnes  Lai  ter.  He  had  many  good 
points  besides  his  good  looks  ; his  only  fault  being  that 
he  was  weak,  the  least  little  bit  in  the  world  weak.  He 
had  as  much  notion  of  economy  as  the  Morning  Sun ; 
and  yet  you  could  not  lay  your  hand  on  any  one  item, 
and  say  : — “ Herein  Phil  Garron  is  extravagant  or  reck- 
less.” Nor  could  you  point  out  any  particular  vice  in 
his  character  : but  he  was  “ unsatisfactory  ” and  as  work- 
able as  putty. 

Agnes  Laiter  went  about  her  duties  at  home — her 
family  objected  to  the  engagement — with  red  eyes,  while 
Phil  was  sailing  to  Darjiling — “a  port  on  the  Bengal 
Ocean,”  as  his  mother  used  to  tell  her  friends.  He  was 
popular  enough  on  board  ship,  made  many  acquaintances 
and  a moderately  large  liquor-bill,  and  sent  off  huge 
letters  to  Agnes  Laiter  at  each  port.  Then  he  fell  to 
work  on  this  plantation,  somewhere  between  Darjiling 
and  Kangra,  and,  though  the  salary  and  the  horse  and  the 
work  were  not  quite  all  he  had  fancied,  he  succeeded 
fairly  well,  and  gave  himself  much  unnecessary  credit 
for  his  perseverance. 

In  the  course  of  time,  as  he  settled  more  into  collar, 
and  his  work  grew  fixed  before  him,  the  face  of  Agnes 
Laiter  went  out  of  his  mind  and  only  came  when  he  was 
at  leisure,  which  was  not  often.  He  would  forget  all  about 
her  for  a fortnight,  and  remember  her  with  a start,  like  a 
school-boy  who  has  forgotten  to  learn  his  lesson.  She 
did  not  forget  Phil,  because  she  was  of  the  kind  that  never 


YOKED  WITH  AN  UNBELIEVER^'* 


39 


forgets.  Only,  another  man — a really  desirable  young 
man  — presented  himself  before  Mrs.  Laiter ; and  the 
chance  of  a marriage  with  Phil  was  as  far  off  as  ever  ; and 
his  letters  were  so  unsatisfactory  ; and  there  was  a certain 
amount  of  domestic  pressure  brought  to  bear  on  the  girl ; 
and  the  young  man  really  was  an  eligible  person  as  in- 
comes go  ; and  the  end  of  all  things  was  that  Agnes  mar- 
ried him,  and  wrote  a tempestuous  whirlwind  of  a letter 
to  Phil  in  the  wilds  of  Darjiling,  and  said  she  should  never 
know  a happy  moment  all  the  rest  of  her  life.  Which  was 
a true  prophecy. 

Phil  got  that  letter,  and  held  himself  ill-treated.  This 
was  two  years  after  he  had  come  out ; but  by  dintofthink- 
ing  fixedly  of  Agnes  Laiter,  and  looking  at  her  photograph, 
and  patting  himself  on  the  back  for  being  one  of  the  most 
constant  lovers  in  history,  and  warming  to  the  work  as  he 
went  on,  he  really  fancied  that  he  had  been  very  hardly 
used.  He  sat  down  and  wrote  one  final  letter — a really 
pathetic  ''world  without  end,  amen,''  epistle  ; explaining 
how  he  would  be  true  to  Eternity,  and  that  all  women 
were  very  much  alike,  and  he  would  hide  his  broken 
heart,  etc.,  etc.;  but  if,  at  any  future  time,  etc.,  etc.,  he 
could  afford  to  wait,  etc.,  etc.,  unchanged  affections,  etc., 
etc.,  return  to  her  old  love,  etc.,  etc.,  for  eight  closely- 
written  pages.  From  an  artistic  point  of  view,  it  was  very 
neat  work,  but  an  ordinary  Philistine,  who  knew  the  state 
of  Phil's  real  feelings — not  the  ones  he  rose  to  as  he  went 
on  writing — would  have  called  it  the  thoroughly  mean 
and  selfish  work  of  a thoroughly  mean  and  selfish,  weak 
man.  But  this  verdict  would  have  been  incorrect.  Phil 
paid  for  the  postage,  and  felt  every  word  he  had  written 
for  at  least  two  days  and  a half.  It  was  the  last  flicker 
before  the  light  went  out. 

That  letter  made  Agnes  Laiter  very  unhappy,  and  she 


40 


“ YOKED  WITH  AN  UNBELIEVER:’^ 


cried  and  put  it  away  in  her  desk,  and  became  Mrs.  Some- 
body Else  for  the  good  of  her  family.  Which  is  the  first 
duty  of  every  Christian  maid. 

Phil  went  his  ways,  and  thought  no  more  of  his  letter, 
except  as  an  artist  thinks  of  a neatly  touched-in  sketch. 
His  ways  were  not  bad,  but  they  were  not  altogether 
good  until  they  brought  him  across  Dunmaya,  the 
daughter  of  a Rajput  ex-Subadar-Major  of  our  Native 
Army.  The  girl  had  a strain  of  Hill  blood  in  her,  and, 
like  the  Hill-women,  was  not  a purdah  nashin.  Where 
Phil  met  her,  or  how  he  heard  of  her,  does  not  matter. 
She  was  a good  girl  and  handsome,  and,  in  her  way, 
very  clever  and  shrewd ; though,  of  course,  a little 
hard.  It  is  to  be  remembered  that  Phil  was  living  very 
comfortably,  denying  himself  no  small  luxury,  never 
putting  by  an  anna,  very  satisfied  with  himself  and 
his  good  intentions,  was  dropping  all  his  English  corre- 
spondents one  by  one,  and  beginning  more  and  more 
to  look  upon  this  land  as  his  home.  Some  men  fall  this 
way ; and  they  are  of  no  use  afterwards.  The  climate 
where  he  was  stationed  was  good,  and  it  really  did 
not  seem  to  him  that  there  was  anything  to  go  Home 
for. 

He  did  what  many  planters  have  done  before  him — 
that  is  to  say,  he  made  up  his  mind  to  marry  a Hill-girl 
and  settle  down.  He  was  seven  and  twenty  then,  with 
a long  life  before  him,  but  no  spirit  to  go  through  with  it. 
So  he  married  Dunmaya  by  the  forms  of  the  English 
Church,  and  some  fellow-planters  said  he  was  a fool,  and- 
some  said  he  was  a wise  man.  Dunmaya  was  a thor- 
oughly honest  girl,  and,  in  spite  of  her  reverence  for  an 
Englishman,  had  a reasonable  estimate  of  her  husband's 
weaknesses.  She  managed  him  tenderly,  and  became, 
in  less  than  a year,  a very  passable  imitation  of  an  Eng- 


“ YOKED  WITH  AN  UNBELTEVERI^ 


41 


lish  lady  in  dress  and  carriage.  [It  is  curious  to  think 
that  a Hill-rnan,  after  a life-time's  education  is  a Hill-man 
still ; but  a Hill-woman  can  in  six  months  master  most  of 
the  ways  of  her  English  sisters.  There  was  a coolie- 
woman  once.  But  that  is  another  story.]  Dunmaya 
dressed  by  preference  in  black  and  yellow,  and  looked 
well. 

Meantime  the  letter  lay  in  Agnes's  desk,  and  now  and 
again  she  would  think  of  poor,  resolute,  hard-working 
Phil  among  the  cobras  and  tigers  of  Darjiling,  toiling 
in  the  vain  hope  that  she  might  come  back  to  him.  Her 
husband  was  worth  ten  Phils,  except  that  he  had  rheum- 
atism of  the  heart.  Three  years  after  he  was  married, — 
and  after  he  had  tried  Nice  and  Algeria  for  his  complaint 
— he  went  to  Bombay,  where  he  died,  and  set  Agnes  free. 
Being  a devout  woman,  she  looked  on  his  death  and  the 
place  of  it,  as  a direct  interposition  of  Providence,  and 
when  she  had  recovered  from  the  shock,  she  took  out  and 
re-read  Phil's  letter  with  the  ‘‘etc.,  etc.,"  and  the  big 
dashes,  and  the  little  dashes,  and  kissed  it  several  times. 
No  one  knew  her  in  Bombay ; she  had  her  husband's  in- 
come, which  was  a large  one,  and  Phil  was  close  at  hand. 
It  was  wrong  and  improper,  of  course,  but  she  decided, 
as  heroines  do  in  novels,  to  find  her  old  lover,  to  offer 
him  her  hand  and  her  gold,-  and  with  him  spend  the  rest 
of  her  life  in  some  spot  far  from  unsympathetic  souls. 
She  sat  for  two  months,  alone  in  Watson's  Hotel,  elabo- 
rating this  decision,  and  the  picture  was  a pretty  one. 
Then  she  set  out  in  search  of  Phil  Garron,  Assistant  on  a 
tea  plantation  with  a more  than  usually  unpronounceable 
name. 


She  found  him.  She  spent  a month  over  it,  for  his 
plantation  was  not  in  the  Darjiling  district  at  all,  but 


42 


“ YOKED  WITH  AN  UNBELIEVERS 


nearer  Kangra.  Phil  was  very  little  altered,  and  Dun- 
maya  was  very  nice  to  her. 

Now  the  particular  sin  and  shame  of  the  whole  busi- 
ness is  that  Phil  who  really  is  not  worth  thinking  of 
twice,  was  and  is  loved  by  Dunmaya,  and  more  than 
loved  by  Agnes,  the  whole  of  whose  life  he  seems  to  have 
spoilt. 

Worst  of  all,  Dunmaya  is  making  a decent  man  of 
him  ; and  he  will  be  ultimately  saved  from  perdition 
through  her  training. 

Which  is  manifestly  unfair. 


FALSE  DAWJ\r. 


43 


FALSE  DAWN. 

To-night  God  knows  what  thing  shall  tide, 

The  Earth  is  racked  and  faint — 

Expectant,  sleepless,  open-eyed  ; 

And  we,  who  from  the  Earth  were  made, 

Thrill  with  our  Mother’s  pain. 

In  Durance. 

No  man  will  ever  know  the  exact  truth  of  this  story  ; 
though  women  may  sometimes  whisper  it  to  one  another 
after  a dance,  when  they  are  putting  up  their  hair  for  the 
night  and  comparing  lists  of  victims.  A man,  of  course, 
cannot  assist  at  these  functions.  So  the  tale  must  be  told 
from  the  outside — in  the  dark — all  wrong. 

Never  praise  a sister  to  a sister,  in  the  hope  of  your 
compliments  reaching  the  proper  ears,  and  so  preparing 
the  way  for  you  later  on.  Sisters  are  women  first,  and 
sisters  afterwards  ; and  you  will  find  that  you  do  your- 
self harm. 

Saumarez  knew  this  when  he  made  up  his  mind  to 
propose  to  the  elder  Miss  Copleigh.  Saumarez  was  a 
strange  man,  with  few  merits,  so  far  as  men  could  see, 
though  he  was  popular  with  women,  and  carried  enough 
conceit  to  stock  a Viceroy's  Council  and  leave  a little 
over  for  the  Commander-in-Chiefs  Staff.  He  was  a 
Civilian.  Very  many  women  took  an  interest  in  Sau- 
marez, perhaps,  because  his  manner  to  them  was  offensive. 
If  you  hit  a pony  over  the  nose  at  the  outset  of  your 
acquaintance,  he  may  not  love  you,  but  he  will  take  a 
deep  interest  in  your  movements  ever  afterwards.  The 


44 


FALSE  DA  WN". 


elder  Miss  Copleigh  was  nice,  plump,  winning  and  pretty. 
The  younger  was  not  so  pretty,  and,  from  men  disre- 
garding the  hint  set  forth  above,  her  style  was  repellant 
and  unattractive.  Both  girls  had,  practically,  the  same 
figure,  and  there  was  a strong  likeness  between  them  in 
look  and  voice ; though  no  one  could  doubt  for  an  in- 
stant which  was  the  nicer  of  the  two. 

Saumarez  made  up  his  mind,  as  soon  as  they  came 
into  the  station  from  Behar,  to  marry  the  elder  one.  At 
least,  we  all  made  sure  that  he  would,  which  comes  to 
the  same  thing.  She  was  two  and  twenty,  and  he  was 
thirty-three,  with  pay  and  allowances  of  nearly  fourteen 
hundred  rupees  a month.  So  the  match,  as  we  arranged 
it,  was  in  every  way  a good  one.  Saumarez  was  his 
name,  and  summary  was  his  nature,  as  a man  once  said. 
Having  drafted  his  Resolution,  he  formed  a Select  Com- 
mittee of  One  to  sit  upon  it,  and  resolved  to  take  his 
time.  In  our  unpleasant  slang,  the  Copleigh  girls  '‘hunted 
in  couples.''  That  is  to  say,  you  could  do  nothing  with 
one  without  the  other.  They  were  very  loving  sisters  ; 
but  their  mutual  affection  was  sometimes  inconvenient. 
Saumarez  held  the  balance-hair  true  between  them,  and 
none  but  himself  could  have  said  to  which  side  his  heart 
inclined ; though  every  one  guessed.  He  rode  with 
them  a good  deal  and  danced  with  them,  but  he  never 
succeeded  in  detaching  them  from  each  other  for  any 
length  of  time. 

Women  said  that  the  two  girls  kept  together  through 
deep  mistrust,  each  fearing  that  the  other  would  steal 
a march  on  her.  But  that  has  nothing  to  do  with  a man. 
Saumarez  was  silent  for  good  or  bad,  and  as  business- 
likely  attentive  as  he  could  be,  having  due  regard  to  his 
work  and  his  polo.  Beyond  doubt  both  girls  were  fond 
of  him. 


FALSE  DAWN. 


45 


As  the  hot  weather  drew  nearer  and  Saumarez  made 
no  sign,  women  said  that  you  could  see  their  trouble  in 
the  eyes  of  the  girls — that  they  were  looking  strained, 
anxious,  and  irritable.  Men  are  quite  blind  in  these 
matters  unless  they  have  more  of  the  woman  than  the 
man  in  their  composition,  in  which  case  it  does  not 
matter,  what  they  say  or  think.  I maintain  it  was  the 
hot  April  days  that  took  the  color  out  of  the  Copleigh 
girls'  cheeks.  They  should  have  been  sent  to  the  Hills 
early.  No  one — man  or  woman — feels  an  angel  when 
the  hot  weather  is  approaching.  The  younger  sister 
grew  more  cynical — not  to  say  acid — in  her  ways;  and 
the  winningness  of  the  elder  wore  thin.  There  was  more 
effort  in  it. 

Now  the  Station  wherein  all  these  things  happened 
was,  though  not  a little  one,  off  the  line  of  rail,  and  suf- 
fered through  want  of  attention.  There  were  no  gar- 
dens, or  bands  or  amusements  worth  speaking  of,  and 
it  was  nearly  a day's  journey  to  come  into  Lahore  for  a 
dance.  People  were  grateful  for  small  things  to  interest 
them. 

About  the  beginning  of  May,  and  just  before  the  final 
exodus  of  Hill-goers,  when  the  weather  was  very  hot 
and  there  were  not  more  than  twenty  people  in  the 
Station,  Saumarez  gave  a moonlight  riding-picnic  at  an 
old  tomb,  six  miles  away,  near  the  bed  of  the  river.  It 
was  a ''Noah's  Ark"  picnic;  and  there  was  to  be  the 
usual  arrangement  of  quarter-mile  intervals  between 
each  couple,  on  account  of  the  dust.  Six  couples  came 
altogether,  including  chaperones.  Moonlight  picnics  are 
useful  just  at  the  very  end  of  the  season,  before  all  the 
girls  go  away  to  the  Hills.  They  lead  to  understandings, 
and  should  be  encouraged  by  chaperones ; especially 
those  whose  girls  look  sweetest  in  riding  habits.  I knew 


40 


FALSE  DA  PVJV, 


a case  once.  But  that  is  another  story.  That  picnic  was 
called  the  Great  Pop  Picnic,”  because  every  one  knew 
Saumarez  would  propose  then  to  the  eldest  Miss  Copleigh  ; 
and,  besides  his  affair,  there  was  another  which  might 
possibly  come  to  happiness.  The  social  atmosphere  was 
heavily  charged  and  wanted  clearing. 

We  met  at  the  parade-ground  at  ten  : the  night  was 
fearfully  hot.  The  horses  sweated  even  at  walking-pace, 
but  anything  was  better  than  sitting  still  in  our  own  dark 
houses.  When  we  moved  off  under  the  full  moon  we 
were  four  couples,  one  triplet,  and  Mr.  Saumarez  rode 
with  the  Copleigh  girls,  and  I loitered  at  the  tail  of  the 
procession  wondering  with  whom  Saumarez  would  ride 
home.  Every  one  was  happy  and  contented  ; but  we  all 
felt  that  things  were  going  to  happen.  We  rode  slowly  ; 
and  it  was  nearly  midnight  before  we  reached  the  old 
tomb,  facing  the  ruined  tank,  in  the  decayed  gardens 
where  we  were  going  to  eat  and  drink.  I was  late  in 
coming  up  ; and,  before  I went  in  to  the  garden,  I saw 
that  the  horizon  to  the  north  carried  a faint,  dun-colored 
feather.  But  no  one  would  have  thanked  me  for  spoiling 
so  well-managed  an  entertainment  as  this  picnic — and  a 
dust-storm,  more  or  less,  does  no  great  harm. 

We  gathered  by  the  tank.  Some  one  had  brought  out 
a banjo — which  is  a most  sentimental  instrument — and 
three  or  four  of  us  sang.  You  must  not  laugh  at  this. 
Our  amusements  in  out-of-the-way  Stations  are  very  few 
indeed.  Then  we  talked  in  groups  or  together,  lying 
under  the  trees,  with  the  sun-baked  roses  dropping  their 
petals  on  our  feet,  until  supper  was  ready.  It  was  a 
beautiful  supper,  as  cold  and  as  iced  as  you  could  wish  ; 
and  we  stayed  long  over  it. 

I had  felt  that  the  air  was  growing  hotter  and  hotter  ; 
but  nobody  seemed  to  notice  it  until  the  moon  went  out 


FALSE  DA  WN. 


47 


and  a burning  hot  wind  began  lashing  the  orange-trees 
with  a sound  like  the  noise  of  the  sea.  Before  we  knew 
where  we  were,  the  dust-storm  was  on  us,  and  every- 
thing was  roaring,  whirling  darkness.'  The  supper- 
table  was  blown  bodily  into  the  tank.  We  were  afraid 
of  staying  anywhere  near  the  old  tomb  for  fear  it  might 
be  blown  down.  So  we  felt  our  way  to  the  orange-trees 
where  the  horses  were  picketed  and  waited  for  the  storm 
to  blow  over.  Then  the  little  light  that  was  left  van- 
ished, and  you  could  not  see  your  hand  before  your  face. 
The  air  was  heavy  with  dust  and  sand  from  the  bed  ot 
the  river,  that  filled  boots  and  pockets  and  drifted  down 
necks  and  coated  eyebrows  and  moustaches.  It  was 
one  of  the  worst  dust-storms  of  the  year.  We  were  all 
huddled  together  close  to  the  trembling  horses,  with  the 
thunder  chattering  overhead,  and  the  lightning  spurting 
like  water  from  a sluice,  all  ways  at  once.  There  was 
no  danger,  of  course,  unless  the  horses  broke  loose.  I 
was  standing  with  my  head  downwind  and  my  hands 
over  my  mouth,  hearing  the  trees  thrashing  each  other. 
I could  not  see  who  was  next  me  till  the  flashes  came. 
Then  I found  that  I was  packed  near  Saumarez  and  the 
eldest  Miss  Copleigh,  with  my  own  horse  just  in  front  of 
me.  I recognized  the  eldest  Miss  Copleigh,  because  she 
had  a pagri  round  her  helmet,  and  the  younger  had  not. 
All  the  electricity  in  the  air  had  gone  into  my  body  and 
I was  quivering  and  tingling  from  head  to  foot — exactly 
as  a corn  shoots  and  tingles  before  rain.  It  was  a grand 
storm.  The  wind  seemed  to  be  picking  up  the  earth  and 
pitching  it  to  leeward  in  great  heaps  ; and  the  heat  beat 
up  from  the  ground  like  the  heat  of  the  Day  of  Judgment. 

The  storm  lulled  slightly  after  the  first  half-hour,  and  I 
heard  a despairing  little  voice  close  to  my  ear,  saying  to 
jtself,  (^uietljr  and  softly,  as  if  some  lost  soul  were  flying 


48 


FALSE  DA  WN, 


about  with  the  wind  : — O my  God  ! Then  the  younger 
Miss  Copleigh  stumbled  into  my  arms,  saying  : ‘‘Where 
is  my  horse  ? Get  my  horse.  I want  to  go  home.  I 
want  to  go  home.  Take  me  home.'" 

I thought  that  the  lightning  and  the  black  darkness  had 
frightened  her  ; so  I said  there  was  no  danger,  but  she 
must  wait  till  the  storm  blew  over.  She  answered  ; “It 
is  not  that ! It  is  not  that!  I want  to  go  home ! O take 
me  away  from  here  ! " 

I said  that  she  could  not  go  till  the  light  came ; but  I 
felt  her  brush  past  me  and  go  away.  It  was  too  dark  to 
see  where.  Then  the  whole  sky  was  split  open  with  one 
tremendous  flash,  as  if  the  end  of  the  world  were  coming, 
and  all  the  women  shrieked. 

Almost  directly  after  this,  I felt  a man's  hand  on  my 
shoulder  and  heard  Saumarez  bellowing  in  my  ear. 
Through  the  rattling  of  the  trees  and  howling  of  the  wind, 
I did  not  catch  his  words  at  once,  but  at  last  I heard  him 
say  : — “ Tve  proposed  to  the  wrong  one  ! What  shall  I 
do  } " Saumarez  had  no  occasion  to  make  this  confldence 
to  me.  I was  never  a friend  of  his,  nor  am  I now  ; but 
I fancy  neither  of  us  were  ourselves  just  then.  He  was 
shaking  as  he  stood  with  excitement,  and  I was  feeling 
queer  all  over  with  the  electricity.  I could  not  think  of 
anything  to  say  except : — “ More  fool  you  for  proposing 
in  a dust  storm."  But  I did  not  see  how  that  would 
improve  the  mistake. 

Then  he  shouted  : — “ Where's  Edith — Edith  Cop- 
leigh } " Edith  was  the  younger  sister.  I answered  out 
of  my  astonishment  : — “What  do  you  want  with  her?'' 
Would  you  believe  it,  for  the  next  two  minutes,  he  and 
I were  shouting  at  each  other  like  maniacs, — he  vowing 
that  it  was  the  younger  sister  he  had  meant  to  propose 
to  all  along,  and  I telling  him  till  my  throat  was  hoarse 


FALSE  DA  WLT. 


49 

that  he  must  have  made  a mistake  ! I can't  account  for 
this  except,  again,  by  the  fact  that  we  were  neither 
of  us  ourselves.  Everything  seemed  to  me  like  a bad 
dream — from  the  stamping  of  the  horses  in  the  dark- 
ness to  Saumarez  telling  me  the  story  of  his  loving 
Edith  Copleigh  since  the  first.  He  was  still  clawing  my 
shoulder  and  begging  me  to  tell  him  where  Edith  Cop- 
leigh was,  when  another  lull  came  and  brought  light  with 
it,  and  we  saw  the  dust-cloud  forming  on  the  plain  in 
front  of  us.  So  we  knew  the  worst  was  over.  The  moon 
was  low  down,  and  there  was  just  the  glimmer  of  the 
false  dawn  that  comes  about  an  hour  before  the  real  one. 
But  the  light  was  very  faint,  and  the  dun  cloud  roared 
like  a bull.  I wondered  where  Edith  Copleigh  had  gone  ; 
and  as  I was  wondering  I saw  three  things  together  : First 
Maud  Copleigh's  face  come  smiling  out  of  the  darkness 
and  move  towards  Saumarez  who  was  standing  by  me. 
I heard  the  girl  whisper  : — George,''  and  slide  her  arm 
through  the  arm  that  was  not  clawing  my  shoulder,  and 
I saw  that  look  on  her  face  which  only  comes  once  or 
twice  in  a life-time — when  a woman  is  perfectly  happy 
and  the  air  is  full  of  trumpets  and  gorgeous-colored 
fire  and  the  Earth  turns  into  cloud  because  she  loves  and 
is  loved.  At  the  same  time,  I saw  Saumarez's  face  as  he 
heard  Maud  Copleigh's  voice,  and  fifty  yards  away  from 
the  clump  of  orange-trees,  I saw  a brown  holland  habit 
getting  upon  a horse. 

It  must  have  been  my  state  of  over-excitement  that  made 
me  so  quick  to  meddle  with  what  did  not  concern  me. 
Saumarez  was  moving  off  to  the  habit ; but  I pushed  him 
back  and  said  : — '‘Stop  here  and  explain.  I'll  fetch  her 
back  ! " And  I ran  out  to  get  at  my  own  horse.  I had  a 
perfectly  unnecessary  notion  that  everything  must  be 
done  decently  and  in  order,  and  that  Saumarez's  first  care 


50 


FALSE  DA  WN. 


was  to  wipe  the  happy  look  out  of  Maud  Copleigh’s  face. 
All  the  time  I was  linking  up  the  curb-chain  I wondered 
how  he  would  do  it. 

I cantered  after  Edith  Copleigh,  thinking  to  bring  her 
back  slowly  on  some  pretence  or  another.  But  she  gal- 
loped away  as  soon  as  she  saw  me,  and  I was  forced  to 
ride  after  her  in  earnest.  She  called  back  over  her 
shoulder — ‘'Go  away!  Erngoinghome.  Q\v,  away  ! 
two  or  three  times  ; but  my  business  was  to  catch  her 
first,  and  argue  later.  The  ride  just  fitted  in  with  the  rest 
of  the  evil  dream.  The  ground  was  very  bad,  and  now 
and  again  we  rushed  through  the  whirling,  choking  “ dust- 
devils  ''  in  the  skirts  of  the  flying  storm.  There  was  a 
burning  hot  wind  blowing  that  brought  up  a stench  of 
stale  brick-kilns  with  it ; and  through  the  half  light  and 
through  the  dust-devils,  across  that  desolate  plain,  flick- 
ered the  brown  holland  habit  on  the  gray  horse.  She 
headed  for  the  Station  at  first.  Then  she  wheeled  round 
and  set  off  for  the  river  through  beds  of  burnt  down  jungle- 
grass,  bad  even  to  ride  pig  over.  In  cold  blood  I should 
never  have  dreamed  of  going  over  such  a country  at  night, 
but  it  seemed  quite  right  and  natural  with  the  lightning 
crackling  over  head,  and  a reek  like  the  smell  of  the  Pit  in 
my  nostrils.  I rode  and  shouted,  and  she  bent  forward 
and  lashed  her  horse,  and  the  aftermath  of  the  dust-storm 
came  up  and  caught  us  both,  and  drove  us  downwind 
like  pieces  of  paper. 

I don't  know  how  far  we  rode  ; but  the  drumming  of 
the  horse-hoofs  and  the  roar  of  the  wind  and  the  race 
of  the  faint  blood-red  moon  through  the  yellow  mist 
seemed  to  have  gone  on  for  years  and  years,  and  I was 
literally  drenched  with  sweat  from  my  helmet  to  my 
gaiters  when  the  grey  stumbled,  recovered  himself,  and 
pulled  up  dead  lame.  My  brute  was  used  up  altogether. 


FALSE  DAWN. 


51 


Edith  Copleigh  was  in  a sad  state,  plastered  with  dust, 
her  helmet  off,  and  crying  bitterly.  ‘‘Why  can't  you  let 
me  alone  t " she  said.  “I  only  wanted  to  get  away  and 
go  home.  Oh,  please  let  me  go  ! " 

“ You  have  got  to  come  back  with  me.  Miss  Copleigh. 
Saumarez  has  something  to  say  to  you." 

It  was  a foolish  way  of  putting  it  ; but  I hardly  knew 
Miss  Copleigh,  and,  though  I was  playing  Providence  at 
the  cost  of  my  horse,  I could  not  tell  her  in  as  many 
words  what  Saumarez  had  told  me.  I thought  he  could 
do  that  better  himself.  All  her  pretence  about  being 
tired  and  wanting  to  go  home  broke  down,  and  she 
rocked  herself  to  and  fro  in  the  saddle  as  she  sobbed, 
and  the  hot  wind  blew  her  black  hair  to  leeward.  I am 
not  going  to  repeat  what  she  said,  because  she  was 
utterly  unstrung. 

This,  if  you  please,  was  the  cynical  Miss  Copleigh. 
Here  was  I,  almost  an  utter  stranger  to  her,  trying  to 
tell  her  that  Saumarez  loved  her  and  she  was  to  come 
back  to  hear  him  say  so  ? I believe  I made  myself 
understood,  for  she  gathered  the  gray  together  and  made 
him  hobble  somehow,  and  we  set  off  for  the  tomb,  while 
the  storm  went  thundering  down  to  Umballa  and  a few 
big  drops  of  warm  rain  fell.  I found  out  that  she  had 
been  standing  close  to  Saumarez  when  he  proposed  to 
her  sister,  and  had  wanted  to  go  home  to  cry  in  peace, 
as  an  English  girl  should.  She  dabbed  her  eyes  with 
her  pocket-handkerchief  as  we  went  along,  and  babbled 
eO  me  out  of  sheer  lightness  of  heart  and  hysteria.  That 
was  perfectly  unnatural ; and  yet,  it  seemed  all  right  at  the 
time  and  in  the  place.  All  the  world  was  only  the  two 
Copleigh  girls,  Saumarez  and  I,  ringed  in  with  the  light- 
ning and  the  dark  ; and  the  guidance  of  this  misguided 
world  seemed  to  lie  in  my  hands. 

IIBRAR^ 

nwivih'Rsim  \umm 


52 


FALSE  DA  WJSr, 


When  we  returned  to  the  tomb  in  the  deep,  dead  still- 
ness that  followed  the  storm,  the  dawn  was  just  breaking 
and  nobody  had  gone  away.  They  were  waiting  for  our 
return.  Saumarez  most  of  all.  His  face  was  white  and 
drawn.  As  Miss  Copleigh  and  I limped  up,  he  came 
forward  to  meet  us,  and,  when  he  helped  her  down  from 
her  saddle,  he  kissed  her  before  all  the  picnic.  It  was 
like  a scene  in  a theatre,  and  the  likeness  was  heightened 
by  all  the  dust-white,  ghostly-looking  men  and  women 
under  the  orange-trees,  clapping  their  hands — as  if  they 
were  watching  a play — at  Saumarez’ s choice.  I never 
knew  anything  so  un-English  in  my  life. 

Lastly,  Saumarez  said  we  must  all  go  home  or  the 
Station  would  come  out  to  look  for  us,  and  would  I be 
good  enough  to  ride  home  with  Maud  Copleigh } Noth- 
ing would  give  me  greater  pleasure,  I said. 

So,  we  formed  up,  six  couples  in  all,  and  went  back 
two  by  two  ; Saumarez  walking  at  the  side  of  Edith 
Copleigh,  who  was  riding  his  horse. 

The  air  was  cleared;  and  little  by  little,  as  the  sun 
rose,  I felt  we  were  all  dropping  back  again  into  ordinary 
men  and  women  and  that  the  Great  Pop  Picnic”  was  a 
thing  altogether  apart  and  out  of  the  world — never  to 
happen  again.  It  had  gone  with  the  dust-storm  and  the 
tingle  in  the  hot  air. 

I felt  tired  and  limp,  and  a good  deal  ashamed  of  my- 
self as  I went  in  for  a bath  and  some  sleep. 

There  is  a woman’s  version  of  this  story,  but  it  will 
never  be  written  ....  unless  Maud  Copleigh  cares  to 
try. 


THE  RESCUE  OF  PLUFFLES. 


53 


THE  RESCUE  OF  PLUFFLES. 

Thus,  for  a season,  they  fought  it  fair— 

She  and  his  cousin  May — 

Tactful,  talented,  debonnaire, 

Decorous  foes  were  they  ; 

But  never  can  battle  of  man  compare 
With  merciless  feminine  fray. 

Two  and  One. 

Mrs.  Hauksbee  was  sometimes  nice  to  her  own  sex. 
Here  is  a story  to  prove  this  ; and  you  can  believe  just  as 
much  as  ever  you  please. 

Pluffles  was  a subaltern  in  the  ‘"Unmentionables.”  He 
was  callow,  even  for  a subaltern.  He  was  callow  all  over 
— like  a canary  that  had  not  finished  fledging  itself.  The 
worst  of  it  was  he  had  three  times  as  much  money  as 
was  good  for  him  ; Pluffles'  Papa  being  a rich  man  and 
Pluffles  being  the  only  son.  Pluffles'  Mamma  adored  him„ 
She  was  only  a little  less  callow  than  Pluffles  and  she 
believed  everything  he  said. 

Pluffles'  weakness  was  not  believing  what  people  said. 
He  preferred  what  he  called  “ trusting  to  his  own  judg- 
ment.” He  had  as  much  judgment  as  he  had  seat  or 
hands  ; and  this  preference  tumbled  him  into  trouble  once 
or  twice.  But  the  biggest  trouble  Pluffles  ever  manufac- 
tured came  about  at  Simla — some  years  ago,  when  he  was 
four-and-twenty. 

He  began  by  trusting  to  his  own  judgment,  as  usual, 


^HE  RESCUE  OF  RL.UFELES. 


54^ 

and  the  result  was  that,  after  a time,  he  was  bound  hand 
and  foot  to  Mrs.  Reiver  s hickshaw  wheels. 

There  was  nothing  good  about  Mrs.  Reiver,  unless 
it  was  her  dress.  She  was  bad  from  her  hair — which 
started  life  on  a Brittany  girl's  head — to  her  boot-heels 
which  were  two  and  three-eight  inches  high,  She  was 
not  honestly  mischievous  like  Mrs.  Hauksbee  ; she  was 
wicked  in  a business-like  way. 

There  was  never  any  scandal — she  had  not  generous 
impulses  enough  for  that.  She  was  the  exception  which 
proved  the  rule  that  Anglo-Indian  ladies  are  in  every 
way  as  nice  as  their  sisters  at  Home.  She  spent  her 
life  in  proving  that  rule. 

Mrs.  Hauksbee  and  she  hated  each  other  fervently. 
They  heard  far  too  much  to  clash ; but  the  things  they 
said  of  each  other  were  startling — not  to  say  original. 
Mrs.  Hauksbee  was  honest — honest  as  her  own  front- 
teeth — and,  but  for  her  love  of  mischief,  would  have 
been  a woman's  woman.  There  was  no  honesty  about 
Mrs.  Reiver  ; nothing  but  selfishness.  And  at  the  begin- 
ning of  the  season,  poor  little  Pluffles  fell  a prey  to  her. 
She  laid  herself  out  to  that  end,  and  who  was  Pluffles 
to  resist.'^  He  went  on  trusting  to  his  judgment,  and  he 
got  judged. 

I have  seen  Hayes  argue  with  a tough  horse — I have 
seen  a tonga-driver  coerce  a stubborn  pony — I have 
seen  a riotous  setter  broken  to  gun  by  a hard  keeper — 
but  the  breaking-in  of  Pluffles  of  the  “Unmentionables" 
was  beyond  all  these.  He  learned  to  fetch  and  carry 
like  a dog,  and  to  wait  like  one,  too,  for  a^word  from 
Mrs.  Reiver.  He  learned  to  keep  appointments  which 
Mrs.  Reiver  had  no  intention  of  keeping.  He  learned 
to  take  thankfully  dances  which  Mrs.  Reiver  had  no 
intention  of  giving  him.  He  learned  to  shiver  for  an 


THE  RESCUE  OF  PLUFFLES, 


55 


hour  and  a quarter  on  the  windward  side  of  Elysium 
while  Mrs.  Reiver  was  making  up  her  mind  to  come 
for  a ride.  He  learned  to  hunt  for  a ‘rickshaw,  in  a light 
dress-suit  under  pelting  rain,  and  to  walk  by  the  side  of 
that  'rickshaw  when  he  had  found  it.  He  learned  what 
it  was  to  be  spoken  to  like  a coolie  and  ordered  about 
like  a cook.  He  learned  all  this  and  many  other  things 
besides.  And  he  paid  for  his  schooling. 

Perhaps,  in  some  hazy  way,  he  'fancied  that  it  was 
fine  and  impressive,  that  it  gave  him  a status  among 
men,  and  was  altogether  the  thing  to  do.  It  was 
nobody's  business  to  warn  Pluffles  that  he  was  unwise. 
The  pace  that  season  was  too  good  to  inquire ; and 
meddling  with  another  man's  folly  is  always  thankless 
work.  Pluffles'  Colonel  should  have  ordered  him  back 
to  his  regiment  when  he  heard  how  things  were  going. 
But  Pluffles  had  got  himself  engaged  to  a girl  in  Eng- 
land the  last  time  he  went  Home  ; and  if  there  was 
one  thing  more  than  another  which  the  Colonel  detested, 
it  was  a married  subaltern.  He  chuckled  when  he  heard 
of  the  education  of  Pluffles,  and  said  it  was  good 
training  for  the  boy."  But  it  was  not  good  training 
in  the  least.  It  led  him  into  spending  money  beyond 
his  means,  which  were  good  : above  that  the  educa- 
tion spoilt  an  average  boy  and  made  it  a tenth-rate 
man  of  an  objectionable  kind.  He  wandered  into  a 
bad  set,  and  his  little  bill  at  Hamilton's  was  a thing 
to  wonder  at. 

Then  Mrs.  Hauksbee  rose  to  the  occasion.  She 
played  her  game  alone,  knowing  what  people  would  say 
of  her  ; and  she  played  it  for  the  sake  of  a girl  she  had 
never  seen.  Pluffles'  fiancee  was  to  come  out,  under 
chaperonage  of  an  aunt,  in  October,  to  be  married  to 
Pluffles. 


56  the  rescue  of  pluffles. 

At  the  beginning  of  August,  Mrs.  Hauksbee  dis- 
covered that  it  was  time  to  interfere.  A man  who  rides 
much  knows  exactly  what  a horse  is  going  to  do  next 
before  he  does  it.  In  the  same  way,  a woman  of  Mrs. 
Hauksbee's  experience  knows  accurately  how  a boy  will 
behave  under  certain  circumstances — notably  when  he 
is  infatuated  with  one  of  Mrs.  Reiver  s stamp.  . She  said 
that,  sooner  or  later,  little  Pluffles  would  break  off  that 
engagement  for  nothing  at  all — simply  to  gratify  Mrs. 
Reiver,  who,  in  return,  would  keep  him  at  her  feet  and 
in  her  service  just  so  long  as  she  found  it  worth  her 
while.  She  said  she  knew  the  signs  of  these  things.  If 
she  did  not,  no  one  else  could. 

Then  she  went  forth  to  capture  Pluffles  under  the 
guns  of  the  enemy ; just  as  Mrs.  Cusack-Bremmil  carried 
away  Bremmil  under  Mrs.  Hauksbee's  eyes. 

This  particular  engagement  lasted  seven  weeks — we 
called  it  the  Seven  Weeks'  War — and  was  fought  out 
inch  by  inch  on  both  sides.  A detailed  account  would 
fill  a book,  and  would  be  incomplete  then.  Any  one 
who  knows  about  these  things  can  fit  in  the  details  for 
himself.  It  was  a superb  fight — there  will  never  be 
another  like  it  as  long  as  Jakko  stands — and  Pluffles 
was  the  prize  of  victory.  People  said  shameful  things 
about  Mrs.  Hauksbee.  They  did  not  know  what  she 
was  playing  for.  Mrs.  Reiver  fought,  partly  because 
Pluffles  was  useful  to  her,  but  mainly  because  she  hated 
Mrs.  Hauksbee,  and  the  matter  was  a trial  of  strength 
between  them.  No  one  knows  what  Pluffles  thought. 
He  had  not  many  ideas  at  the  best  of  times,  and  the 
few  he  possessed  made  him  conceited.  Mrs.  Hauksbee 
said  : — The  boy  must  be  caught  ; and  the  only  way 
of  catching  him  is  by  treating  him  well." 

So  she  treated  him  as  a man  of  the  world  and  of 


THE  RESCUE  OF  PLUFFLES. 


57 


experience  so  long  as  the  issue  was  doubtful.  Little  by 
little,  Pluffles  fell  away  from  his  old  allegiance  and  came 
over  to  the  enemy,  by  whom  he  was  made  much  of.  He 
was  never  sent  on  out-post  duty  after  'rickshaws  any 
more,  nor  was  he  given  dances  which  never  came  off, 
nor  were  the  drains  on  his  purse  continued.  Mrs.  Hauks- 
bee  held  him  on  the  snaffle  ; and,  after  his  treatment  at 
Mrs.  Reiver's  hands,  he  appreciated  the  change. 

Mrs.  Reiver  had  broken  him  of  talking  about  him- 
self, and  made  him  talk  about  her  own  merits.  Mrs. 
Hauksbee  acted  otherwise,  and  won  his  confidence, 
till  he  mentioned  his  engagement  to  the  girl  at  Home, 
speaking  of  it  in  a high  and  mighty  way  as  a piece 
of  boyish  folly."  This  was  when  he  was  taking  tea 
with  her  one  afternoon,  and  discoursing  in  what  he 
considered  a gay  and  fascinating  style.  Mrs.  Hauksbee 
had  seen  an  earlier  generation  of  his  stamp  bud  and 
blossom,  and  decay  into  fat  Captains  and  tubby  Majors. 

At  a moderate  estimate  there  were  about  three  and 
twenty  sides  to  that  lady’s  character.  Some  men  say 
more.  She  began  to  talk  to  Pluffles  after  the  manner  of 
a mother,  and  as  if  there  had  been  three  hundred  years, 
instead  of  fifteen,  between  them.  She  spoke  with  a sort 
of  throaty  quaver  in  her  voice  which  had  a soothing 
effect,  though  what  she  said  was  anything  but  soothing. 
She  pointed  out  the  exceeding  folly,  not  to  say  mean^ 
ness,  of  Pluffles’  conduct,  and  the  smallness  of  his  views. 
Then  he  stammered  something  about  trusting  to  his 
own  judgment  as  a man  of  the  world  ; and  this  paved 
the  way  for  what  she  wanted  to  say  next.  It  would  have 
withered  up  Pluffles  had  it  come  from  any  other  woman  ; 
but  in  the  soft  cooing  style  in  which  Mrs.  Hauksbee  put 
it,  it  only  made  him  feel  limp  and  repentant — as  if  he 
had  been  in  some  superior  kind  of  church.  Little  by 


THE  RESCUE  OF  PLUFFLES 


58 

little,  very  softly  and  pleasantly,  she  began  taking  the 
conceit  out  of  Pluffles,  as  you  take  the  ribs  out  of  an 
umbrella  before  re-covering  it.  She  told  him  what  she 
thought  of  him  and  his  judgment  and  his  knowledge  of 
the  world ; and  how  his  performances  had  made  him 
ridiculous  to  other  people  ; and  how  it  was  his  intention 
to  make  love  to  herself  if  she  gave  him  the  chance.  Then 
she  said  that  marriage  would  be  the  making  of  him  ; 
and  drew  a pretty  little  picture — all  rose  and  opal — of 
the  Mrs.  Pluffles  of  the  future  going  through  life  relying 
on  the  “judgment '' and  “knowledge  of  the  world’' of 
a husband  who  had  nothing  to  reproach  himself  with. 
How  she  reconciled  these  two  statements  she  alone  knew. 
But  they  did  not  strike  Pluffles  as  conflicting. 

Hers  was  a perfect  little  homily — much  better  than  any 
clergyman  could  have  given — and  it  ended  with  touching 
allusions  to  Pluffles'  Mamma  and  Papa,  and  the  wisdom 
of  taking  his  bride  Home. 

Then  she  sent  Pluffles  out  for  a walk,  to  think  over 
what  she  had  said.  Pluffles  left,  blowing  his  nose  very 
hard  and  holding  himself  very  straight.  Mrs.  Hauksbee 
laughed. 

What  Pluffles  had  intended  to  do  in  the  matter  of  the 
engagement  only  Mrs.  Reiver  knew,  and  she  kept  her 
own  counsel  to  her  death.  She  would  have  liked  it 
spoiled  as  a compliment,  I fancy. 

Pluffles  enjoyed  many  talks  with  Mrs.  Hauksbee  during 
the  next  few  days.  They  were  all  to  the  same  end,  and 
they  helped  Pluffles  in  the  path  of  Virtue. 

Mrs.  Hauksbee  wanted  to  keep  him  under  her  wing 
to  the  last.  Therefore  she  discountenanced  his  going 
down  to  Bombay  to  get  married.  “ Goodness  only  knows 
what  might  happen  by  the  way  !"  she  said.  “Pluffles 


THE  RESCUE  OF  PLUFFLES. 


59 

is  cursed  with  the  curse  of  Reuben,  and  India  is  no  fit 
place  for  him  ! 

In  the  end,  the  fiancee  arrived  with  her  aunt  ; and 
Pluffles,  having-  reduced  his  affairs  to  some  sort  of  order 
— here  again  Mrs.  Hauksbee  helped  him — was  married. 

Mrs.  Hauksbee  gave  a sigh  of  relief  when  both  the 
‘'I  wills  ''  had  been  said,  and  went  her  way. 

Pluffles  took  her  advice  about  going  Home.  He  left 
the  Service,  and  is  now  raising  speckled  cattle  inside 
green  painted  fences  somewhere  at  Home.  I believe 
he  does  this  very  judiciously.  He  would  have  come  to 
extreme  grief  out  here. 

For  these  reasons  if  any  one  says  anything  more  than 
usually  nasty  about  Mrs.  Hauksbee,  tell  him  the  story  of 
the  Rescue  of  Pluffles. 


6o 


CUPID'S  APPOIVS. 


CUPID^S  ARROWS. 

Pit  where  the  buffalo  cooled  his  hide, 

By  the  hot  sun  emptied,  and  blistered  and  dried  ; 
Log  in  the  rt’/^-grass,  hidden  and  lone  ; 

Bund  where  the  earth-rat’s  mounds  are  strown  ; 
Cave  in  the  bank  where  the  sly  stream  steals  ; 

Aloe  that  stabs  at  the  belly  and  heels. 

Jump  if  you  dare  on  a steed  untried — 

Safer  it  is  to  go  wide — go  wide  ! 

Hark^  from  in  front  where  the  best  men  ride  ; — 
Pult  to  the  off^  boys  ! Wide  ! Go  wide" ! ” 

The  Peora  Hunt, 


Once  upon  a time  there  lived  at  Simla  a very  pretty  girl, 
the  daughter  of  a poor  but  honest  District  and  Sessions 
Judge.  She  was  a good  girl,  but  could  not  help  knowing 
her  power  and  using  it.  Her  Mamma  was  very  anxious 
about  her  daughter's  future,  as  all  good  Mammas  should 
be. 

When  a man  is  a Commissioner  and  a bachelor  and 
has  the  right  of  wearing  open-work  jam-tart  jewels  in 
gold  and  enamel  on  his  clothes,  and  of  going  through 
a door  before  every  one  except  a Member  of  Council,  a 
Lieutenant-Governor,  or  a Viceroy,  he  is  worth  marry- 
ing. At  least,  that  is  what  ladies  say.  There  was  a 
Commissioner  in  Simla,  in  those  days,  who  was,  and 
wore,  and  did,  all  I have  said.  He  was  a plain  man — 
an  ugly  man — the  ugliest  man  in  Asia,  with  two  excep- 
tions. His  was  a face  to  dream  about  and  try  to  carve 
on  a pipe-head  afterwards.  His  name  was  Saggott — 
Barr-Saggott — Anthony  Barr-Saggott  and  six  letters  to 


CUPID'S  ARROWS- 


6l 


follow.  Departmentally,  he  was  one  of  the  best  men  the 
Government  of  India  owned.  Socially,  he  was  like  a 
blandishing-  gorilla. 

When  he  turned  his  attentions  to  Miss  Beighton,  I believe 
that  Mrs.  Beighton  wept  with  delight  at  the  reward  Provi- 
dence had  sent  her  in  her  old  age. 

Mr.  Beighton  held  his  tongue.  He  was  an  easy-going 
man. 

Now  a Commissioner  is  very  rich.  His  pay  is  beyond 
the  dreams  of  avarice — is  so  enormous  that  he  can  afford 
to  save  and  scrape  in  a way  that  would  almost  discredit 
a Member  of  Council.  Most  Commissioners  are  mean  ; 
but  Barr-Saggott  was  an  exception.  He  entertained 
royally  ; he  horsed  himself  well  ; he  gave  dances  ; he 
was  a power  in  the  land  ; and  he  behaved  as  such. 

Consider  that  everything  I am  writing  of  took  place 
in  an  almost  pre-historic  era  in  the  history  of  British 
India.  Some  folk  may  remember  the  years  before  lawn- 
tennis  was  born  when  we  all  played  croquet.  There 
were  seasons  before  that,  if  you  will  believe  me,  when 
even  croquet  had  not  been  invented,  and  archery— which 
was  revived  in  England  in  1844 — was  as  great  a pest  as 
lawn-tennis  is  now.  People  talked  learnedly  about 
'‘holding"'  and  "loosing,"  "steles,"  reflexed  bows," 
" 56-pound  bows,"  " backed  " or  "self-yew  bows,"  as  we 
talk  about  " rallies, " "volleys,"  "smashes,"  "returns,"’ 
and  " 16-ounce  rackets." 

Miss  Beighton  shot  divinely  over  ladies"  distance — 
60  yards,  that  is — and  was  acknowledged  the  best 
lady  archer  in  Simla.  Men  called  her  " Diana  of  Tara- 
Devi." 

Bar-Saggott  paid  her  great  attention  ; and,  as  I have 
said,  the  heart  of  her  mother  was  uplifted  in  consequence. 
Kitty  Beighton  took  matters  more  calmly.  It  was  pleas- 


62 


CUPID^S  ARROWS, 


ant  to  be  singled  out  by  a Commissioner  with  letters 
after  his  name,  and  to  fill  the  hearts  of  other  girls  with 
bad  feelings.  But  there  was  no  denying  the  fact  that 
Barr-Saggott  was  phenomenally  ugly  ; and  all  his  at- 
tempts to  adorn  himself  only  made  him  more  grotesque. 
He  was  not  christened  '‘The  Langur” — which  means 
gray  ape — for  nothing.  It  was  pleasant,  Kitty  thought, 
to  have  him  at  her  feet,  but  it  was  better  to  escape 
from  him  and  ride  with  the  graceless  Cubbon —the  man 
in  a Dragoon  Regiment  atUmballa — the  boy  with  a hand- 
some face,  and  no  prospects.  Kitty  liked  Cubbon  more 
than  a little.  He  never  pretended  for  a moment  that  he 
was  anything  less  than  head  over  heels  in  love  with  her  ; 
for  he  was  an  honest  boy.  So  Kitty  fled,  now  and  again, 
from  the  stately  wooings  of  Barr-Saggott  to  the  com- 
pany of  young  Cubbon,  and  was  scolded  by  her  Mam- 
ma in  consequence.  "But,  Mother,’'  she  said,  "Mr. 
Saggott  is  such — such  a — is  so  fearfully  ugly,  you 
know  ! 

" My  dear,”  said  Mrs.  Beighton  piously,  " we  cannot 
be  other  than  an  all-ruling  Providence  has  made  us. 
Besides,  you  will  take  precedence  of  your  own  Mother, 
you  know  ! Think  of  that  and  be  reasonable.” 

Then  Kitty  put  up  her  little  chin  and  said  irreverent 
things  about  precedence,  and  Commissioners,  and  matri- 
mony. Mr.  Beighton  rubbed  the  top  of  his  head  ; for 
he  was  an  easy-going  man. 

Late  in  the  season,  when  he  judged  that  the  time  was 
ripe,  Barr-Saggot  developed  a plan  which  did  great  credit 
to  his  administrative  powers.  He  arranged  an  archery- 
tournament  for  ladies  with  a most  sumptuous  diamond- 
studded  bracelet  as  prize.  He  drew  up  his  terms  skil- 
fully, and  every  one  saw  that  the  bracelet  was  a gift  to 
Miss  Beighton  ; the  acceptance  carrying  with  it  the  hand 


CUPID^S  ARROWS. 


63 

and  the  heart  of  Commissioner  Barr-Saggott.  The  terms 
were  a St.  Leonards  Round — thirty-six  shots  at  sixty  yards 
— under  the  rules  of  the  Simla  Toxophilite  Society. 

All  Simla  was  invited.  There  were  beautifully  arranged 
tea-tables  under  the  deodars  at  Annandale,  where  the 
Grand  Stand  is  now  ; and,  alone  in  its  glory,  winking  in 
the  sun,  sat  the  diamond  bracelet  in  a blue  velvet  case. 
Miss  Beighton  was  anxious — almost  too  anxious — to  com- 
pete. On  the  appointed  afternoon,  all  Simla  rode  down 
to  Annandale  to  witness  the  Judgment  of  Paris  turned  up- 
side down.  Kitty  rode  with  young  Cubbon,  and  it  was 
easy  to  see  that  the  boy  was  troubled  in  his  mind.  He 
must  be  held  innocent  of  everything  that  followed.  Kitty 
was  pale  and  nervous,  and  looked  long  at  the  bracelet. 
Barr-Saggot  was  gorgeously  dressed,  even  more  nervous 
than  Kitty,  and  more  hideous  than  ever. 

Mrs.  Beighton  smiled  condescendingly,  as  befitted  the 
mother  of  a potential  Commissioneress,  and  the  shooting 
began  ; all  the  world  standing  a semicircle  as  the  ladies 
came  out  one  after  the  other. 

Nothing  is  so  tedious  as  an  arcLery  competition. 
They  shot,  and  they  shot,  and  they  kept  on  shooting, 
till  the  sun  left  the  valley,  and  little  breezes  got  up  in 
the  deodars,  and  people  waited  for  Miss  Beighton  to 
shoot  and  win.  Cubbon  was  at  one  horn  of  the  semi- 
circle round  the  shooters,  and  Barr-Saggot  at  the  other. 
Miss  Beighton  was  last  on  the  list.  The  scoring  had  been 
weak,  and  the  bracelet,  plus  Commissioner  Barr-Saggott, 
was  hers  to  a certainty. 

The  Commissioner  strung  her  bow  with  his  own  sacred 
hands.  She  stepped  forward,  looked  at  the  bracelet,  and 
her  first  arrow  went  true  to  a hair — full  into  the  heart  of 
the  ‘‘gold  — ^counting  nine  points. 

Young  Cubbon  on  the  left  turned  white,  and  his  Devil 


64 


cupms  ARROWS. 


prompted  Barr-Saggot  to  smile.  Now  horses  used  to  shy 
when  Barr-Saggot  smiled.  Kitty  saw  that  smile.  She 
looked  to  her  left-front,  gave  an  almost  imperceptible  nod 
to  Cubbon,  and  went  on  shooting. 

I wish  I could  describe  the  scene  that  followed.  It 
was  out  of  the  ordinary  and  most  improper.  Miss 
Kitty  fitted  her  arrows  with  immense  deliberation,  so 
that  every  one  might  see  what  she  was  doing.  She  was 
a perfect  shot  ; and  her  46-pound  bow  suited  her  to  a 
nicety.  She  pinned  the  wooden  legs  of  the  target  with 
great  care  four  successive  times.  She  pinned  the  wooden 
top  of  the  target  once,  and  all  the  ladies  looked  at  each 
other.  Then  she  began  some  fancy  shooting  at  the 
white,  which  if  you  hit  it,  counts  exactly  one  point. 
She  put  five  arrows  into  the  white.  It  was  wonderful 
archery  ; but,  seeing  that  her  business  was  to  make 
‘'golds''  and  win  the  bracelet,  Barr-Saggot  turned  a 
delicate  green  like  young  water-grass.  Next,  she  shot 
over  the  target  twice,  then  wide  to  the  left  twice — 
always  with  the  same  deliberation — while  a chilly  hush 
fell  over  the  company,  and  Mrs.  Beighton  took  out  her 
handkerchief.  Then  Kitty  shot  at  the  ground  in  front 
of  the  target,  and  split  several  arrows.  Then  she  made 
a red — or  seven  points — just  to  show  what  she  could 
do  if  she  liked,  and  she-  finished  up  her  amazing  per- 
formance with  some  more  fancy  shooting  at  the  target- 
supports.  Here  is  her  score  as  it  was  pricked  off: — 

Gold.  Red.  Blue.  Black.  White.  Total  Hits.  Total  Score. 
Miss  Beighton  1100  5 7 21 

Barr-Saggot  looked  as  if  the  last  few  arrow-heads 
had  been  driven  into  his  legs  instead  of  the  target’s, 
and  the  deep  stillness  was  broken  by  a littte  snubby, 
mottled,  half-grown  girl  saying  in  a shrill  voice  of 
triumph,  — “Then  Fve  won  1 " 


cupms  ARROWS. 


65 

Mrs.  Beighton  did  her  best  to  bear  up ; but  she  wept 
in  the  presence  of  the  people.  No  training  could  help 
her  through  such  a disappointment.  Kitty  unstrung 
her  bow  with  a vicious  jerk,  and  went  back  to  her  place, 
while  Barr-Saggott  was  trying  to  pretend  that  he  enjoyed 
snapping  the  bracelet  on  the  snubby  girl's  raw,  red 
wrist.  It  was  an  awkward  scene — most  awkward.  Every 
one  tried  to  depart  in  a body  and  leave  Kitty  to  the 
mercy  of  her  Mamma. 

But  Cubbon  took  her  away  instead,  and — the  rest 
isn't  worth  printing. 


5 


66 


THE  THREE  MUSKETEERS. 


THE  THREE  MUSKETEERS. 

An’  when  the  war  began,  we  chased  the  bold  Afghan, 

An’  we  made  the  bloomin’  Ghazi  for  to  flee,  boys  O ! 

An’  we  marched  into  Kabul ^ and  we  tuk  the  Balar  ’Issar 
An’  we  taught  ’em  to  respec’  the  British  Soldier. 

Barrack  Room  BaiL 

Mulvaney,  Ortheris  and  Learoyd  are  Privates  U 6 
Company  of  a Line  Regiment,  and  personal 
of  mine.  Collectively  I think,  but  am  not  certain,  ^hey 
are  the  worst  men  in  the  regiment  so  far  as  genial  black- 
guardism goes. 

They  told  me  this  story,  the  other  day,  in  the  Um- 
balla  Refreshment  Room  while  we  were  waiting  for 
an  up-train.  I supplied  the  beer.  The  tale  * «ras  cheap 
at  a gallon  and  a half. 

Of  course  you  know  Lord  Benira  Tri^.  He  is  a 
Duke,  or  an  Earl,  or  something  unofficial  ; also  a 
Peer  ; also  a Globe-trotter.  On  all  three  counts,  as 
Ortheris  says,  ‘^'e  didn't  deserve  no  consideration."  He 
was  out  here  for  three  months  collecting  materials 
for  a book  on  Our  Eastern  Impedimenta,"  and  quarter- 
ing himself  upon  everybody,  like  a Cossack  in  evening- 
dress. 

His  particular  vice — because  he  was  a Radical,  I sup- 
pose— was  having  garrisons  turned  out  for  his  inspec- 
tion. He  would  then  dine  with  the  Officer  Command- 
ing, and  insult  him,  across  the  Mess  table,  about  the 
appearance  of  the  troops.  That  was  Benira  s way. 


THE  THREE  MUSKETEERS. 


57 

He  turned  out  troops  once  too  often.  He  came  to 
Helanthami  Cantonment  on  a Tuesday.  He  wished 
to  go  shopping  in  the  bazaars  on  Wednesday,  and  he 
^Mesired''  the  troops  to  be  turned  out  on  a Thursday 
Oil — a — Thursday!  The  Officer  Commanding  could  not 
well  refuse  ; for  Benira  was  a Lord.  There  was  an  in- 
dignation-meeting of  subalterns  in  the  Mess  Room,  to  call 
the  Colonel  pet  names. 

But  the  rale  dimonstrashin,''  said  Mulvaney,  was  in 
B Company  barrick  ; we  three  headin'  it." 

Mulvaney  climbed  on  to  the  refreshment-bar,  settled 
himself  comfortably  by  the  beer,  and  went  on  : — “Whin 
the  row  was  at  ut's  foinest  an'  B Comp'ny  was  fur  goin' 
out  to  murther  this  man  Thrigg  on  the  p'rade-groun', 
Learoyd  here  takes  up  his  helmut  an'  sez — fwhat  was  ut 
ye  said } " 

“Ah  said,"  said  Learoyd,  '‘gie  us  t' brass.  Tak  oop 
a subscripshun,  lads,  for  to  put  off  t'  p'rade,  an’  if 
t'  p'rade's  not  put  off,  ah'll  gie  t'  brass  back  agean. 
Thot's  wot  ah  said.  All  B Coomp'ny  knawed  me.  Ah 
took  oop  a big  subscripshun — fower  rupees  eight  annas 
^twas — an'  ah  went  oot  to  turn  t'  job  over.  Mulvaney  an' 
Orth'ris  coom  with  me." 

“ We  three  raises  the  Divil  in  couples  gin'rally,"  ex- 
plained Mulvaney. 

Here  Ortheris  interrupted.  'Ave  you  read  the 
papers  ? ''  said  he. 

“ Sometimes,"  I said. 

“ We  'ad  read  the  papers,  an'  we  put  hup  a faked 
decoity,  a — a sedukshun.” 

“ ^^dukshin,  ye  cockney,"  said  Mulvaney. 

“ ^Z>dukshun  or  sedukshun — no  great  odds.  Any  'ow, 
we  arrange  to  taik  an'  put  Mister  Benhira  out  o'  the 
way  till  Thursday  was  hover,  or  'e  too  busy  to  rux  'isself 


68 


THE  TRHEE  MUSKETEERS, 


about  p'raids.  Hi  was  the  man  wot  said  : — ‘ We’ll  make 
a few  rupees  off  o’  the  business.’  ” 

We  hild  a Council  av  War,”  continued  Mulvaney 

walkin’ roun  ’ by  the  Artill’ry  Lines.  I was  Prisidint, 
Learoyd  was  Minister  av  Finance,  an’  little  Orth’ris  here 
was ” 

''A  bloomin’  Bismarck  ! ATf  made  the  ’ole  show  pay.” 
‘‘This  interferin’ bit  av  a Benira  man,”  said  Mulvaney 
“did  the  thrick  for  us  himself;  for,  on  me  sowl,w;€  hadn’t 
a notion  av  what  was  to  come  afther  the  next  minut. 
He  was  shoppin’  in  the  bazar  on  fut.  ’Twas  dhrawin’ 
dusk  thin,  an’  we  stud  watchin’  the  little  man  hoppin’  in 
an’  out  av  the  shops,  thryin  to  injuce  the  naygurs  to 
mallum  his  hat.  Prisintly,  he  sthrols  up,  his  arrums  full 
av  thruck,  an’  he  sez  in  a consiquinshal  way,  shticking 
out  his  little  belly  : — ‘ Me  good  men,’  sez  he,  ‘ have  ye 
seen  the  Kernel’s  b’roosh  ? ’ ‘ B’roosh  ? ’ says  Learoyd. 

‘ There’s  no  b’roosh  here — nobbut  a hekka.*  ‘ Fwhat’s 
that  ’ sez  Thrigg.  Learoyd  shows  him  wan  down  the 
sthreet,  an’  he  sez  : — ‘ How  thruly  Orientil  ! I will  ride 
on  a hekka.'  I saw  thin  that  our  Rigimintal  Saint  was 
for  givin’  Thrigg  over  to  us  neck  an’  brisket.  I pur- 
shued  a hekka,  an’  I sez  to  the  dhriver-divil,  I sez  — 
‘ Ye  black  limb,  there’s  a Sahib  cornin’  for  this  hekka 
He  wants  to  go  jildi  to  the  Padsahi  Jhil  ’ — ’twas  about 
tu  moiles  away — , to  shoot  snipe — chirria.  ‘You  dhrive 
Jehannum  ke  marfik,  mallum  P ’Tis  no  manner  av  /aider 
bukkifi  to  the  Sahib^  bekaze  he  doesn’t  samjao  your  bat. 
Av  he  bolos  anything,  just  you  choop  and  chel.  Dekker  P 
Go  arsty  for  the  first  arder-m.\\^  from  canton  mints.  Then 
chel,  Shaitan  ke  marfik^  an’  the  chooper  you  choops  an’  the 
jilder  you  chels  the  better  kooshy  will  that  Sahib  be  ; an’ 
here’s  a rupee  for  ye . ’ 

“The  hekka-vcidin  knew  there  was  somethin’  out  av  the 


THE  THREE  MUSKETEERS,  69 

common  in  the  air.  He  grinned  and  sez  : — ‘ Bote  achee  ! 
I goin’  damn  fast. ' I prayed  that  the  Kernehs  b’roosh 
wudn't  arrive  till  me  darlin'  Benira  by  the  grace  av  God 
was  undher  weigh.  The  little  man  puts  his  thruck  into 
the  hekka  an'  scuttles  in  like  a fat  guinea-pig ; niver 
offerin'  us  the  price  of  a dhrink  for  our  services  in  helpin' 
him  home.  ‘He's  off  to  the  Padsahi  jhil/  sqz  I to  the 
others. " 

Ortheris  took  up  the  tale  : — 

“Jist  then,  little  Buldoo  kim  up,  '00  was  the  son  of 
one  of  the  Artillery  Saises — 'e  would  'av  made  a 'evinly 
newspaper-boy  in  London,  bein'  sharp  and  fly  to  all  man- 
ner o'  games.  'E  'ad  bin  watchin'  us  puttin'  Mister  Ben- 
hira  into  ^s  temporary  baroush,  an'  'e  sez  : — ‘ What  'ave 
you  been  a doin'^  of,  Sahibs  ? ' sez  'e.  Learoyd  'e  caught 
'im  by  the  ear  an'  'e  sez — " 

“Ah  says,"  went  on  Learoyd':  “‘Young  mon,  that 
mon's  gooin'  to  have't  goons  out  o'  Thursday — kul — an' 
thot's  more  work  for  you,  young  mon.  Now,  sitha,  tak 
a tat  an'  a lookri,  an'  ride  tha  domdest  to  t'  Padsahi  Jhil. 
Cotch  thot  there  hekka,  and  tell  t'  driver  iv  your  lingo 
thot  you've  coom  to  tak'  his  place.  T'  Sahib  doesn't 
speak  t'  bat,  an'  he's  a little  mon.  Drive  t'  hekka  into  t' 
Padsahi  Jhil  into  t'  watter.  Leave  t'  Sahib  theer  an'  roon 
hoam ; an  here's  a rupee  for  tha. " 

Then  Mulvaney  and  Ortheris  spoke  together  in  alter- 
nate fragments  : Mulvaney  leading  [You  must  pick  out 
the  two  speakers  as  best  you  can.]  : — “ He  was  a know- 
in'  little  divil  was  Bhuldoo, — 'e  sez  bote  achee  an'  cuts — 
wid  a wink  in  his  oi — but  Hi  sez  there's  money  to  be 
made — an'  I want  to  see  the  end  av  the  campaign — so  Hi 
says  we'll  double  hout  to  the  Padsahi  Jhil — and  save  the 
little  man  from  bein'  dacoited  by  the  murtherin'  Bhuldoo 
—an'  turn  hup  like  reskoors  in  a Ryle  Victoria  Theayter 


70 


THE  TEHEE  MUSKETEERS, 


Melodrama — so  we  doubled  for  the  jhil,  an^  prisintly  there 
was  the  divil  of  a hurroosh  behind  us  an'  three  bhoys  on 
grasscuts'  tats  come  by,  pounding  along  for  the  dear  life 
— s elp  me  Bob,  hif  Buldoo  'adn't  raised  a regular  harmy 
of  decoits — to  do  the  job  in  shtile.  An'  we  ran,  an  they 
ran,  shplittin'  with  laughin',  till  we  gets  near  the  jhil — 
and  'ears  sounds  of  distress  floatin'  molloncally  on  the 
heavenin’  hair."  [Ortheris  was  growing  poetical  under 
the  influence  of  the  beer.  The  duet  recommenced ; 
Mulvaney  leading  again.  ] 

‘'Thin  we  heard  Bhuldoo,  the  dacoit,  shoutin' to  the 
hekka  man,  an'  wan  of  the  young  divils  brought  his  lakri 
down  on  the  top  av  the  hekka-coYeVj  an'  Benira  Thrigg 
inside  howled  ‘Murther  an'  Death.'  Buldoo  takes  the 
reins  and  dhrives  like  mad  for  the  jhil , havin'  dishpersed 
the  hehka-d^xxiY^x — 'oo  cum  up  to  us  an'  'e  sez,  sezie : — 
‘ That  Sahib's  nigh  gawhry  with  funk  ! Wot  devil's  work 
"ave  you  led  me  into  ? ^ ‘ Hall  right,'  sez  we,  ‘ jom puck- 

row  that  there  pony  an'  come  along.  This  Sahib's  been 
decoited,  an'  we're  going  to  resky  'im  ! ^ Says  the  driver  : 
‘ Decoits  ! Wot  decoits  That's  Buldoo  the  budmash' — 
‘Bhuldoo  be  shot!'  sez  we.  ‘'Tis  a woild  dissolute 
Pathan  frum  the  hills.  There's  about  eight  av  'im  coercin' 
the  Sahib,  You  remimber  that  an'  you'll  get  another 
rupee ' I Then  we  heard  the  whop-whop-whop  av  the  hekka 
turnin’  over,  an'  a splash  av  water  an'  the  voice  av  Benira 
Thrigg  callin'  upon  God  to  forgive  his  sins — an'  Buldoo 
an'  'is  friends  squotterin'  in  the  water  like  boys  in  the 
Serpentine.’' 

Here  the  Three  Musketeers  retired  simultaneously  into 
the  beer. 

“ Well } What  came  next?  " said  I. 

“ Fwhat  nex'.?^ " answered  Mulvaney,  wiping  his  mouth. 
“ Wud  you  let  three  bould  sodger-bhoys  lave  the  ornamint 


THE  THREE  MUSKETEERS, 


71 


av  the  House  av  Lords  to  be  dhrowned  an'  dacoited  in  a 
jhil  P We  formed  line  av  quarther-column  an'  we  desinded 
upon  the  inimy.  For  the  better  part  av  tin  minutes  you 
could  not  hear  yerself  spake.  The  tattoo  was  screamin’ 
in  chune  wid  Benira  Thrigg*  an'  Bhuldoo's  army,  an'  the 
shticks  was  whistlin'  roun'  the  liekka,  an’  Orth'ris  was 
heatin'  the  hekka-coYer  wid  his  fistes,  an'  Learoyd 
yellin'  : — ‘Look  out  for  their  knives  ! ' an'  me  cuttin'  into 
the  dark,  right  an'  lef,  dishpersin' arrmy  corps  av  Pathans. 
Holy  Mother  av  Moses  ! 'twas  more  disp'rit  than  Ahmid 
Kheyl  wid  Maiwund  thrown  in.  Afther  a while  Bhuldoo 
an'  his  bhoys  flees.  Have  ye  iver  seen  a rale  live  Lord 
thryin'  to  hide  his  nobility  undher  a fut  an’  a half  av  brown 
jhil  wather  ? 'Tis  the  livin'  image  av  a bhistis  mussick  wid 
the  shivers.  It  tuk  toime  to  pershuade  me  frind  Benira  he 
was  not  disimbowilled  ; an’  more  toime  to  get  out  the 
hekka.  The  dhriver  come  up  afther  the  battle,  swearin' 
he  tuk  a hand  in  repulsin'  the  inimy.  Benira  was  sick  wid 
the  fear.  We  escorted  him  back,  very  slow,  to  canton- 
mints,  for  that  an' the  chill  to  soak  into  him.  Itsuk! 
Glory  be  to  the  Rigimintil  Saint,  but  it  suk  to  the  marrow 
av  Lord  Benira  Thrigg  ! " 

Here  Ortheris,  slowly,  with  immense  pride  : — “ 'E  sez  : 
—‘You  har  my  noble  preservers,’  sez  'e.  ‘You  har  a 
honor  to  the  British  Harmy,'  sez  ’e.  With  that  'e  describes 
the  hawful  band  of  decoits  wot  set  on  'im.  There  was 
about  forty  of  'em  an'  'e  was  hoverpowered  by  numbers, 
so  ' e was ; but  'e  never  lost  'is  presence  of  mind,  so  'e 
didn't.  'E  guv  the  hekka-dxiYOV  five  rupees  for  'is  noble 
hassistance,  an'  'e  said  'e  would  see  to  us  after  'e  ’ad 
spoken  to  the  Kernul.  For  we  was  a honor  to  the  Regi- 
ment, we  was." 

“An'  we  three,"  said  Mulvaney,  with  a seraphic  smile, 
“ have  dhrawn  the  par-ti-cu-lar  attinshin  av  Bobs  Baha- 


72 


THE  THREE  MUSKETEERS 


dur  more  than  wanst.  But  he's  a rale  good  little  man  is 
Bobs.  Go  on,  Orth'ris,  me  son. " 

"‘Then  we  leaves  'im  at  the  Kernul's  'ouse,  werry 
sick,  an'  we  cuts  over  to  B.  Comp'ny  barrick  an’  we 
sez  we  'ave  saved  Benira  from  a bloody  doom,  an’  the 
chances  was  agin  there  bein'  p'raid  on  Thursday.  About 
ten  minutes  later  come  three  envelicks,  one  for  each  of 
us.  S'elp  me  Bob,  if  the  old  bloke  'adn't  guv  us  a fiver 
apiece — sixty-four  dibs  in  the  bazaar  ! On  Thursday  'e 
was  in  'orspital  recoverin'  from 's  sanguinary  encounter 
with  a gang  of  Pathans,  an'  B Comp'ny  was  drinkin'  'em- 
selves  inter  clink  by  squads.  So  there  never  was  no 
Thursday  p'raid.  But  the  Kernul,  when  'e  'eard  of  our 
galliant  conduct,  'e  sez  : — " Hi  know  there's  been  some 
devilry  somewheres,’  sez  'e,  " but  hi  can’t  bring  it  'ome 
to  you  three.'" 

""An’  my  privit  imprisshin  is, "said  Mulvaney,  getting 
off  the  bar  and  turning  his  glass  upside  down,  ""that, 
av  they  had  known  they  wudn't  have  brought  ut  home. 

' Tis  flyin'  in  the  face,  firstly  av  Nature,  second,  av  the 
Rig'lations,  an'  third,  the  will  av  Terence  Mulvaney,  to 
hold  p'rades  av  Thursdays." 

""Good,  ma  son!"  said  Learoyd;  ""but,  young  mon, 
what's  t'  notebook  for  " 

""Let  be,"  said  Mulvaney;  ""this  time  next  month 
we're  in  the  Sherapis,  "Tis  immortial  fame  the  gentle- 
man's goin'  to  give  us.  But  kape  it  dhark  till  we're  out 
av  the  range  av  me  little  frind  Bobs  Bahadur." 

And  I have  obeyed  Mulvaney's  order. 


HJS  CHANCE  IN  LIFE. 


73 


HIS  CHANCE  IN  LIFE. 

Then  a pile  of  heads  be  laid — 

Thirty  thousand  heaped  on  high — 

All  to  please  the  Kafir  maid, 

Where  the  Oxus  ripples  by. 

Grimly  spake  AtullaKhan  : — 

“ Love  hath  made  this  thing  a Man.’’ 

Oatta's  Story, 

If  you  go  straight  away  from  Levees  and  Govern 
ment  House  Lists,  past  Trades’  Balls — far  beyond  every- 
thing and  everybody  you  ever  knew  in  your  respectable 
life — you  cross,  in  time,  the  Border  line  where  the  last 
drop  of  White  blood  .ends  and  the  full  tide  of  Black 
sets  in.  It  would  be  easier  to  talk  to  a new  made 
Duchess  on  the  spur  of  the  moment  than  to  the  Bor- 
derline folk  without  violating  some  of  their  conventions 
or  hurting  their  feelings.  The  Black  and  the  White 
mix  very  quaintly  in  their  ways.  Sometimes  the  White 
shows  in  spurts  of  fierce,  childish  pride — which  is  Pride 
of  Race  run  crooked — and  sometimes  the  Black  in  still 
fiercer  abasement  and  humility,  half-heathenish  customs 
and  strange,  unaccountable  impulses  to  crime.  One  of 
these  days,  this  people — understand  they  are  far  lowef 
than  the  class  whence  Derozio,  the  man  who  imitated 
Byron,  sprung — will  turn  out  a writer  or  a poet ; and 
then  we  shall  know  how  they  live  and  what  they  feel. 
In  the  meantime,  any  stories  about  them  cannot  be  abso- 
lutely correct  in  fact  or  inference. 

Miss  Vezzis  came  from  across  the  Borderline  to  look 


74 


HIS  CHANCE  IN  LIFE, 


after  some  children  who  belonged  to  a lady  until  a regu- 
larly ordained  nurse  could  come  out.  The  lady  said 
Miss  Vezzis  was  a bad,  dirty  nurse  and  inattentive.  It 
never  struck  her  that  Miss  Vezzis  had  her  own  life  to  lead 
and  her  own  affairs  to  worry  over,  and  that  these  affairs 
were  the  most  important  things  in  the  world  to  Miss 
Vezzis.  Very  few  mistresses  admit  this  sort  of  reasoning. 
Miss  Vezzis  was  as  black  as  a boot  and,  to  our  standard 
of  taste,  hideously  ugly.  She  wore  cotton-print  gowns 
and  bulged  shoes  ; and  when  she  lost  her  temper  with 
the  children,  she  abused  them  in  the  language  of  the 
Borderline — which  is  part  English,  part  Portuguese,  and 
part  Native.  She  was  not  attractive  ; but  she  had  her 
pride,  and  she  preferred  being  called  ‘^Miss  Vezzis.'' 

Every  Sunday,  she  dressed  herself  wonderfully  and 
went  to  see  her  Mamma,  who  lived,  for  the  most  part, 
on  an  old  cane  chair  in  a greasy  /ussur-silk  dressing- 
gown  and  a big  rabbit-warren  of  a house  full  of  Vezzises, 
Pereiras,  Ribieras,  Lisboas  and  Gonsalveses,  and  a float- 
ing population  of  loafers  ; besides  fragments  of  the  day's 
bazar ^ garlic,  stale  incense,  clothes  thrown  on  the  floor, 
petticoats  hung  on  strings  for  screens,  old  bottles,  pewter 
crucifixes,  dried  immortelles^  pariah  puppies,  plaster  im- 
ages of  the  Virgin,  and  hats  without  crowns.  Miss  Vezzis 
drew  twenty  rupees  a month  for  acting  as  nurse,  and  she 
squabbled  weekly  with  her  Mamma  as  to  the  percentage 
to  be  given  towards  housekeeping.  When  the  quarrel 
was  over,  Michele  D'Cruze  used  to  shamble  across  the 
low  mud  wall  of  the  compound  and  make  love  to  Miss 
Vezzis  after  the  fashion  of  the  Borderline,  which  is  hedged 
about  with  much  ceremony.  Michele  was  a poor,  sickly 
weed  and  very  black  ; but  he  had  his  pride.  He  would 
not  be  seen  smoking  a huqa  for  anything ; and  he  looked 
down  on  natives  as  only  a man  with  seven-eighths  native 


HIS  CHANCE  IN  LIFE, 


75 

blood  in  his  veins  can.  The  Vezzis  Family  had  their 
pride  too.  They  traced  their  descent  from  a mythical 
platelayer  who  had  worked  on  the  Sone  Bridge  when 
railways  were  new  in  India,  and  they  valued  their  English 
origin.  Michele  was  a Telegraph  Signaller  on  Rs.  35  a 
month.  The  fact  that  he  was  in  Government  employ 
made  Mrs.  Vezzis  lenient  to  the  shortcomings  of  his 
ancestors. 

There  was  a compromising  legend — Dom  Anna  the 
tailor  brought  it  from  Poonani — that  a black  Jew  of  Cochii^ 
had  once  married  into  the  D’Cruze  family  ; while  it  was 
an  open  secret  that  an  uncle  of  Mrs.  D’Cruze  was,  at  that 
very  time,  doing  menial  work,  connected  with  cooking, 
for  a Club  in  Southern  India ! He  sent  Mrs.  D’Cruze 
seven  rupees  eight  annas  a month  ; but  she  felt  the  dis- 
grace to  the  family  very  keenly  all  the  same. 

However,  in  the  course  of  a few  Sundays,  Mrs.  Vezzis 
brought  herself  to  overlook  these  blemishes  and  gave 
her  consent  to  the  marriage  of  her  daughter  v/ith 
Michele,  on  condition  that  Michele  should  have  at  least 
filty  rupees  a month  to  start  married  life  upon.  This 
wonderful  prudence  must  have  been  a lingering  touch 
of  the  mythical  plate-layer's  Yorkshire  blood  ; for 
across  the  Borderline  people  take  a pride  in  marrying 
when  they  please — not  when  they  can. 

Having  regard  to  his  departmental  prospects.  Miss 
Vezzis  might  as  well  have  asked  Michele  to  go  away  and 
come  back  with  the  Moon  in  his  pocket.  But  Michele 
was  deeply  in  love  with  Miss  Vezzis,  and  that  helped  him 
to  endure.  He  accompanied  Miss  Vezzis  to  Mass  one 
Sunday,  and  after  Mass,  walking  home  through  the  hot 
stale  dust  with  her  hand  in  his,  he  swore  by  several  Saints 
whose  names  would  not  interest  you,  never  to  forget  Miss 
Vezzis  ; and  she  swore  by  her  Honor  and  the  Saints — the 


HIS  CHANCE  IN  LIFE, 


76 

oath  runs  rather  curiously;  In  nomine  Sanctissimce — ” 
(whatever  the  name  of  the  she-Saint  is)  and  so  forth, 
ending  with  a kiss  on  the  forehead,  a kiss  on  the  left 
cheek,  and  a kiss  on  the  mouth — never  to  forget  Michele. 

Next  week  Michele  was  transferred,  and  Miss  Vezzis 
dropped  tears  upon  the  window-sash  of  the  ^'Intermedi- 
ate ''  compartment  as  he  left  the  Station. 

If  you  look  at  the  telegraph-map  of  India  you  will  see 
a long  line  skirting  the  coast  from  Backergunge  to  Madras. 
Michele  was  ordered  to  Tibasu,  a little  Sub-office  one- 
third  down  this  line,  to  send  messages  on  from  Berham- 
pur  to  Chicacola,  and  to  think  of  Miss  Vezzis  and  his 
chances  of  getting  fifty  rupees  a month  out  of  office-hours. 
He  had  the  noise  of  the  Bay  of  Bengal  and  a Bengali  Babu 
for  company ; nothing  more.  He  sent  foolish  letters, 
with  crosses  tucked  inside  the  flaps  of  the  envelopes,  to 
Miss  Vezzis. 

When  he  had  been  at  Tibasu  for  nearly  three  weeks  his 
chance  came. 

Never  forget  that  unless  the  outward  and  visible  signs 
of  Our  Authority  are  always  before  a native  he  is  as  in- 
capable as  a child  of  understanding  what  authority  means, 
or  where  is  the  danger  of  disobeying  it.  Tibasu  was  a 
forgotten  little  place  with  a few  Orissa  Mahomedans  in  it. 
These,  hearing  nothing  of  the  CoW^cior-Sahib  for  some 
time  and  heartily  despising  the  Hindu  Sub-Judge,  arranged 
to  start  a little  Mohurrum  riot  of  their  own.  But  the  Hin- 
dus turned  out  and  broke  their  heads  ; when,  finding  law- 
lessness pleasant,  Hindus  and  Mahomedans  together 
raised  an  aimless  sort  of  Donnybrook  just  to  see  hew  far 
they  could  go.  They  looted  each  others'  shops,  and  paid 
off  private  grudges  in  the  regular  way.  It  was  a nasty 
little  riot,  but  not  worth  putting  in  the  newspapers. 

Michele  was  working  in  his  office  when  he  heard  the 


ms  CHANCE  IN  LIFE. 


77 


sound  that  a man  never  forgets  all  his  life — the  ^^ah-yah 
of  an  angry  crowd.  [When  that  sound  drops  about  three 
tones,  and  changes  to  a thick,  droning  ut,  the  man  who 
hears  it  had  better  go  away  if  he  is  alone.]  The  Native 
Police  Inspector  ran  in  and  told  Michele  that  the  town 
was  in  an  uproar  and  coming  to  wreck  the  Telegraph 
Office.  The  Babu  put  on  his  cap  and  quietly  dropped  out 
of  the  window ; while  the  Police  Inspector,  afraid,  but 
obeying  the  old  race-instinct  which  recognizes  a drop  of 
White  blood  as  far  as  it  can  be  diluted,  said: — ''What 
orders  does  the  Sahib  give } '' 

The  " Sakih  ''  decided  Michele.  Though  horribly  fright- 
ened, he  felt  that,  for  the  hour,  he,  the  man  with  the  Co- 
chin Jew  and  the  menial  uncle  in  his  pedigree,  was  the 
only  representative  of  English  authority  in  the  place. 
Then  he  thought  of  Miss  Vezzis  and  the  fifty  rupees,  and 
took  the  situation  on  himself.  There  were  seven  na- 
tive policemen  in  Tibasu,  and  four  crazy  smooth-bore 
muskets  among  them.  All  the  men  were  gray  with  fear, 
but  not  beyond  leading.  Michele  dropped  the  key  of 
the  telegraph  instrument,  and  went  out,  at  the  head  of  his 
army,  to  meet  the  mob.  As  the  shouting  crew  came 
round  a corner  of  the  road,  he  dropped  and  fired  ; the 
men  behind  him  loosing  instinctively  at  the  same  time. 

The  whole  crowd — curs  to  the  back-bone — yelled  and 
ran  ; leaving  one  man  dead,  and  another  dying  in  the 
road.  Michele  was  sweating  with  fear  ; but  he  kept  his 
weakness  under,  and  went  down  into  the  town,  past  the 
house  where  the  Sub-Judge  had  barricaded  himself.  The 
streets  were  empty.  Tibasu  was  more  frightened  than 
Michele,  for  the  mob  had  been  taken  at  the  right  time. 

Michele  returned  to  the  Telegraph-Office,  and  sent  a 
message  to  Chicacola  asking  for  help.  Before  an  answer 
came,  he  received  a deputation  of  the  elders  of  Tibasu, 


HIS  CHANCE  IN  LIFE. 


78 

telling  him  that  the  Sub-Judge  said  his  actions  generally 
were  ‘‘unconstitutional,”  and  trying  to  bully  him.  But 
the  heart  of  Michele  D'Cruze  was  big  and  white  in  his 
breast,  because  of  his  love  for  Miss  Vezzis,  the  nurse- 
girl,  and  because  he  had  tasted  for  the  first  time  Respon- 
sibility and  Success.  Those  two  make  an  intoxicating 
drink,  and  have  ruined  more  men  than  ever  has 
Whiskey.  Michele  answered  that  the  Sub-Judge  might 
say  what  he  pleased,  but,  until  the  Assistant  Collector 
came,  the  Telegraph  Signaller  was  the  Government  0/ 
India  in  Tibasu,  and  the  elders  of  the  town  would  bei 
held  accountable  for  further  rioting.  Then  they  bowed 
their  heads  and  said  : — “ Show  mercy  ! ” or  words  to  that 
effect,  and  went  back  in  great  fear  ; each  accusing  the 
other  of  having  begun  the  rioting. 

Early  in  the  dawn,  after  a nighfs  patrol  with  his  seven 
policemen,  Michele  went  down  the  road,  musket  in  hand, 
to  meet  the  Assistant  Collector  who  had  ridden  in  to 
quell  Tibasu.  But,  in  the  presence  of  this  young  Eng- 
lishman, Michele  felt  himself  slipping  back  more  and 
more  into  the  native  , and  the  tale  of  the  Tibasu  Riots 
ended,  with  the  strain  on  the  teller,  in  an  hysterical  out- 
burst of  tears,  bred  by  sorrow  that  he  had  killed  a man, 
shame  that  he  could  not  feel  as  uplifted  as  he  had  felt 
through  the  night,  and  childish  anger  that  his  tongue 
could  not  do  justice  to  his  great  deeds.  It  was  the  White 
drop  in  Miohele's  veins  dying  out,  though  he  did  not 
know  it. 

But  the  Englishman  understood  ; and,  after  he  had 
schooled  those  men  of  Tibasu,  and  had  conferred  with 
the  Sub-Judge  till  that  excellent  official  turned  green, 
he  found  time  to  draught  an  official  letter  describing  the 
conduct  of  Michele.  Which  letter  filtered  through  the 
Proper  Channels,  and  ended  in  the  transfer  of  Michele 


HIS  CHANCE  IN  tIFE. 


79 

up-country  once  more,  on  the  Imperial  salary  of  sixty- 
six  rupees  a month. 

So  he  and  Miss  Vezzis  were  married  with  great  state 
and  ancientry  ; and  now  there  are  several  little  D’Cruzes 
sprawling  about  the  verandahs  of  the  Central  Telegraph 
Office. 

But,  if  the  whole  revenue  of  the  Department  he  serves 
were  to  be  his  reward,  Michele  could  never,  never  repeat 
what  he  did  at  Tibasu  for  the  s^ake  of  Miss  Vezzis  the 
nurse-girl. 

Which  proves  that,  when  a man  does  good  work  out 
of  all  proportion  to  his  pay,  in  seven  cases  out  of  nine 
there  is  a woman  at  the  back  of  the  virtue. 

The  two  exceptions  must  have  suffered  from  sun- 
stroke. 


8o 


WATCHES  OF  THE  NIGHT. 


WATCHES  OF  THE  NIGHT. 

What  is  in  the  Brahman’s  books  that  is  in  the  Brahman’s  heart 
Neither  you  nor  I knew  there  was  so  much  evil  in  the  world. 

Hindu  Proverb, 

This  began  in  a practical  joke  ; but  it  has  gone  fat 
enough  now,  and  is  getting  serious. 

Platte,  the  Subaltern,  being  poor,  had  a Waterbury 
watch  and.  a plain  leather  guard. 

The  Colonel  had  a Waterbury  watch  also,  and  for 
guard,  the  lip-strap  of  a curb-chain.  Lip-straps  make 
the  best  watch-guards.  They  are  strong  and  short. 
Between  a lip-strap  and  an  ordinary  leather-guard  there 
is  no  great  difference ; between  one  Waterbury  watch 
and  another  none  at  all.  Everyone  in  the  station  knew 
the  Colon^rs  lip-strap.  He  was  not  a horsey  man,  but 
he  liked  people  to  believe  he  had  been  one  once ; and  he 
wove  fantastic  stories  of  the  hunting-bridle  to  which  this 
particular  lip-strap  had  belonged.  Otherwise  he  was 
painfully  religious. 

Platte  and  the  Colonel  were  dressing  at  the  Club — both 
late  for  their  engagements,  and  both  in  a hurry.  That 
was  Kismet,  The  two  watches  were  on  a shelf  below 
the  looking-glass — guards  hanging  down.  That  was 
carelessness.  Platte  changed  first,  snatched  a watch, 
looked  in  the  glass,  settled  his  tie,  and  ran.  Forty 
seconds  later,  the  Colonel  did  exactly  the  same  thing ; 
each  man  taking  the  other  s watch. 


WATCHES  OF  THE  NIGHT. 


8l 


You  may  have  noticed  that  many  religious  people  are 
deeply  suspicious.  They  seem — for  purely  religious  pur- 
poses, of  course — to  know  more  about  iniquity  than  the 
Unregenerate.  Perhaps  they  were  specially  bad  before  they 
became  converted  ! At  any  rate,  in  the  imputation  of 
things  evil,  and  in  putting  the  worst  construction  on  things 
innocent,  a certain  type  of  good  people  may  be  trusted  to 
surpass  all  others.  The  Colonel  and  his  Wife  were  of  that 
type.  But  the  Colonel’s  wife  was  the  worst.  She  manu- 
factured the  Station  scandal,  and — talked  to  her  ayah  I 
Nothing  more  need  be  said.  The  ColoneFs  Wife  broke 
up  the  Laplace’s  home.  The  Colonel’s  Wife  stopped  the 
Ferris-Haughtrey  engagement.  The  Colonel’s  Wife  in- 
duced young  Buxton  to  keep  his  wife  down  in  the  Plains 
through  the  first  year  of  the  marriage.  Whereby  little  Mrs. 
Buxton  died,  and  the  baby  with  her.  These  things  will 
be  remembered  against  the  Colonel’s  Wife  so  long  as  there 
is  a regiment  in  the  country. 

But  to  come  back  to  the  Colonel  and  Platte.  They  went 
their  several  ways  from  the  dressing-room.  The  Colonel 
dined  with  two  Chaplains,  while  Platte  went  to  a bachelor- 
party,  and  whist  to  follow. 

Mark  how  things  happen  ! If  Platte’s  sais  had  put  the 
new  saddle-pad  on  the  mare,  the  butts  of  the  territs  would 
not  have  worked  through  the  worn  leather  and  the  old  pad 
into  the  mare’s  withers,  when  she  was  coming  home  at 
two  o’clock  in  the  morning.  She  would  not  have  reared, 
bolted,  fallen  into  a ditch,  upset  the  cart,  and  sent  Platte 
flying  over  an  aloe-hedge  on  to  Mrs.  Larkyn’s  well-kept 
lawn  ; and  this  tale  would  never  have  been  written.  But 
the  mare  did  all  these  things,  and  while  Platte  was  rolling 
over  and  over  on  the  turf,  like  a shot  rabbit,  the  watch 
and  guard  flew  from  his  waistcoat — as  an  Infantry  Major’s 
sword  hops  out  of  the  scabbard  when  they  are  firing  a /eu 


82 


WATCHES  OF  THE  NIGHT. 


de  joie — and  rolled  and  rolled  in  the  moonlight,  till  it  stop- 
ped under  a window. 

Platte  stuffed  his  handkerchief  under  the  pad,  put  the  cart 
straight,  and  went  home. 

Mark  again  how  Kismet  works  ! This  would  not  hap- 
pen once  in  a hundred  years.  Towards  the  end  of  his 
dinner  with  the  two  Chaplains,  the  Colonel  let  out  his 
waistcoat  and  leaned  over  the  table  to  look  at  some  Mis- 
sion Reports.  The  bar  of  the  watch-guard  worked 
through  the  buttonhole,  and  the  watch — Platte’s  watch — • 
slid  quietly  on  to  the  carpet.  Where  the  bearer  found  it 
next  morning  and  kept  it. 

Then  the  Colonel  went  home  to  the  wife  of  his  bosom  ; 
but  the  driver  of  the  carriage  was  drunk  and  lost  his  way. 
So  the  Colonel  returned  at  an  unseemly  hour  and  his  ex- 
cuses were  not  accepted.  If  the  Colonel’s  Wife  had  been 
an  ordinary  ‘‘  vessel  of  wrath  appointed  for  destruction,” 
she  would  have  known  that  when  a man  stays  aways  on 
purpose,  his  excuse  is  always  sound  and  original.  The 
very  baldness  of  the  Colonel’s  explanation  proved  its 
truth. 

See  once  more  the  workings  of  Kismet  ! The 
Colonel’s  watch  which  came  with  Platte  hurriedly  on 
to  Mrs.  Larkyn’s  lawn,  chose  to  stop  just  under  Mrs. 
Larkyn’s  window,  where  she  saw  it  early  in  the  morn- 
ing, recognized  it,  and  picked  it  up.  She  had  heard  the 
crash  of  Platte’s  cart  at  two  o’clock  that  morning,  and 
his  voice  calling  the  mare  names.  She  knew  Platte  and 
liked  him.  That  day  she  showed  him  the  watch  and 
heard  his  story.  He  put  his  head  on  one  side,  winked 
and  said: — “How  disgusting!  Shocking  old  man  I 
With  his  religious  training,  too  ! I should  send  the 
watch  to  the  Colonel’s  Wife  and  ask  for  explanations.” 

Mrs.  Larkyn  thought  for  a minute  of  the  Laplaces — 


WATCHES  OF  THE  NIGHT. 


83 

whom  she  had  known  when  Laplace  and  his  wife 
believed  in  each  other — and  answered: — ‘‘I  will  send 
it.  I think  it  will  do  her  good.  But,  remember,  we 
must  never  tell  her  the  truth/' 

Platte  guessed  that  his  own  watch  was  in  the  Colonel's 
possession,  and  thought  that  the  return  of  the  lip-strapped 
Waterbury  with  a soothing  note  from  Mrs.  Larkyn,  would 
merely  create  a small  trouble  for  a few  minutes.  Mrs. 
Larkyn  knew  better.  She  knew  that  any  poison  dropped 
would  find  good  holding-ground  in  the  heart  of  the 
Colonel's  Wife. 

The  packet,  and  a note  containing  a few  remarks  on 
the  Colonel's  calling-hours,  were  sent  over  to  the  Col- 
onels Wife,  who  wept  in  her  own  room  and  took  counsel 
with  herself. 

If  there  was  one  woman  under  Heaven  whom  the 
Colonel's  Wife  hated  with  holy  fervor,  it  was  Mrs.  Larkyn. 
Mrs.  Larkyn  was  a frivolous  lady,  and  called  the  Col- 
onel's Wife  ‘‘  old  cat."  The  Colonel's  Wife  said  that  some- 
body in  Revelations  was  remarkably  like  Mrs.  Larkyn. 
She  mentioned  other  Scripture  people  as  well.  From  the 
Old  Testament.  [But  the  Colonel's  Wife  was  the  only 
person  who  cared  or  dared  to  say  anything  against  Mrs. 
Larkyn.  Every  one  else  accepted  her  as  an  amusing, 
honest  little  body.]  Wherefore,  to  believe  that  her  hus- 
band had  been  shedding  watches  under  that  Thing  s " 
window  at  ungodly  hours,  coupled  with  the  fact  of  his 
late  arrival  on  the  previous  night,  was 

At  this  point  she  rose  up  and  sought  her  husband.  He 
denied  everything  except  the  ownership  of  the  watch. 
She  besought  him,  for  his  Soul’s  sake  to  speak  the  truth. 
He  denied  afresh,  with  two  bad  words.  Then  a stony 
silence  held  the  Colonel's  Wife,  while  a man  could  draw 
his  breath  five  times. 


84 


WATCHES  OF  THE  NIGHT 


The  speech  that  followed  is  no  affair  of  mine  or  yours. 
It  was  made  up  of  wifely  and  womanly  jealousy  ; knowl- 
edge of  old  age  and  sunk  cheeks  ; deep  mistrust  born  oi 
the  text  that  says  even  little  babies'  hearts  are  as  bad  as 
they  make  them  ; rancorous  hatred  of  Mrs.  Larkyn,  and 
the  tenets  of  the  creed  of  the  Colonel's  Wife's  upbringing. 

Over  and  above  all,  was  the  damning  lip-strapped 
Waterbury,  ticking  away  in  the  palm  of  her  shaking, 
withered  hand.  At  that  hour,  I think,  the  Colonel's 
Wife  realized  a little  of  the  restless  suspicion  she  had 
injected  into  old  Laplace's  mind,  a little  of  poor  Miss 
Haughtrey's  misery,  and  some  of  the  canker  that  ate 
into  Buxton's  heart  as  he  watched  his  wife  dying  before 
his  eyes.  The  Colonel  stammered  and  tried  to  explain. 
Then  he  remembered  that  his  watch  had  disappeared  ; 
and  the  mystery  grew  greater.  The  Colonel's  Wife  talked 
and  prayed  by  turns  till  she  was  tired,  and  went  away 
to  devise  means  for  ‘'chastening  the  stubborn  heart  of 
her  husband."  Which,  translated,  means,  in  our  slang, 
“ tail-twisting." 

You  see,  being  deeply  impressed  with  the  doctrine  of 
Original  Sin,  she  could  not  believe  in  the  face  of  appear- 
ances. She  knew  too  much,  and  jumped  to  the  wildest 
conclusions. 

But  it  was  good  for  her.  It  spoilt  her  life,  as  she  had 
spoilt  the  life  of  the  Laplaces.  She  had  lost  her  faith  in 
the  Colonel,  and — here  the  creed-suspicion  came  in — he 
might,  she  argued,  have  erred  many  times,  before  a mer- 
ciful Providence,  at  the  hands  of  so  unworthy  an  instru- 
ment as  Mrs.  Larkyn,  had  established  his  guilt.  He 
was  a bad,  wicked,  gray-haired  profligate.  This  may 
sound  too  sudden  a revulsion  for  a long-wedded  wife  ; 
but  it  is  a venerable  fact  that,  if  a man  or  woman  makes 
a practice  of,  and  takes  a delight  in,  believing  and 


WATCHES  OF  THE  NIGHT 


85 

spreading  evil  of  people  indifferent  to  him  or  her,  he  01 
she  w^ill  end  in  believing  evil  of  folk  very  near  and  dear. 
You  may  think,  also,  that  the  mere  incident  of  the  watch 
was  too  small  and  trivial  to  raise  this  misunderstanding. 
It  is  another  aged  fact  that,  in  life  as  well  as  racing,  all 
the  worst  accidents  happen  at  little  ditches  and  cut-down 
fences.  In  the  same  way,  you  sometimes  see  a woman 
who  would  have  made  a Joan  of  Arc  in  another  century 
and  climate,  threshing  herself  to  pieces  over  all  the  mean 
worry  of  housekeeping.  But  that  is  another  story. 

Her  belief  only  made  the  Colonels  Wife  more  wretch- 
ed, because  it  insisted  so  strongly  on  the  villainy  of  men. 
Remembering  what  she  had  done,  it  was  pleasant  to 
watch  her  unhappiness,  and  the  penny-farthing  attempts 
she  made  to  hide  it  from  the  Station.  But  the  Station 
knew  and  laughed  heartlessly;  for  they  had  heard  the 
story  of  the  watch,  with  much  dramatic  gesture,  from  Mrs. 
Larkyn’s  lips. 

Once  or  twice  Platte  said  to  Mrs.  Larky n,  seeing  that 
the  Colonel  had  not  cleared  himself  : — ‘‘This  thing  has 
gone  far  enough.  I move  we  tell  the  Colonel’s  Wife  how 
it  happened."'  Mrs.  Larkyn  shut  her  lips  and  shook  her 
head,  and  vowed  that  the  Colonel’s  Wife  must  bear  her 
punishment  as  best  she  could.  Now  Mrs.  Larkyn  was  a 
frivolous  woman,  in  whom  none  would  have  suspected 
deep  hate.  So  Platte  took  no  action,  and  came  to  believe 
gradually,  from  the  Colonel’s  silence,  that  the  Colonel 
must  have  “run  off  the  line  ” somewhere  that  night,  and, 
therefore,  preferred  to  stand  sentence  on  the  lesser  count 
of  rambling  into  other  people’s  compounds  out  of  calling- 
hours.  Platte  forgot  about  the  watch  business  after  a 
while,  and  moved  down-country  with  his  regiment.  Mrs. 
Larkyn  went  home  when  her  husband’s  tour  of  Indian 
service  expired.  She  never  forgot. 


86 


WATCHES  OF  THE  NIGHT 


But  Platte  was  quite  right  when  he  said  that  the  joke 
had  gone  too  far.  The  mistrust  and  the  tragedy  of  it 
— which  we  outsiders  cannot  see  and  do  not  believe  in 
— are  killing  the  Colonel’s  Wife,  and  are  making  the  Col- 
onel wretched.  If  either  of  them  read  this  story,  they 
can  depend  upon  its  being  a fairly  true  account  of  the 
case,  and  can,  kiss  and  make  friends.'' 

Shakespeare  alludes  to  the  pleasure  of  watching  an 
Engineer  being  shelled  by  his  own  Battery.  Now  this 
shows  that  poets  should  not  write  about  what  they  do 
not  understand.  Anyone  could  have  told  him  that  Sap- 
pers and  Gunners  are  perfectly  different  branches  of 
the  Service.  But,  if  you  correct  the  sentence,  and  sub- 
stitute Gunner  for  Sapper,  the  moral  comes  just  the 
same. 


THE  OTHER  MAH. 


87 


THE  OTHER  MAN. 

When  the  earth  was  sick  and  the  skies  were  gray. 

And  the  woods  were  rotted  with  rain, 

The  Dead  Man  rode  through  the  autumn  day 
To  visit  his  love  again. 

Old  Ballad, 

Far  back  in  the  ‘‘seventies/'  before  they  had  built 
any  Public-Offices  at  Simla,  and  the  broad  road  round 
Jakko  lived  in  a pigeon-hole  in  the  P.  W.  D.  hovels, 
her  parents  made  Miss  Gaurey  marry  Colonel  Schrieder- 
ling.  He  could  not  have  been  much  more  than  thirty- 
five  years  her  senior  ; and,  as  he  lived  on  two  hundred 
rupees  a month  and  had  money  of  his  own,  he  was 
well  off.  He  belonged  to  good  people,  and  suffered  in 
the  cold  weather  from  lung-complaints.  In  the  hot 
weather  he  dangled  on  the  brink  of  heat-apoplexy  ; but 
it  never  quite  killed  him. 

Understand,  I do  not  blame  Schreiderling.  He  was  a 
good  husband  according  to  his  lights,  and  his  temper 
only  failed  him  when  he  was  being  nursed.  Which  was 
some  seventeen  days  in  each  month.  He  was  almost 
generous  to  his  wife  about  money-matters,  and  that,  for 
him,  was  a concession.  Still  Mrs.  Schreiderling  was  not 
happy.  They  married  her  when  she  was  this  side  of 
twenty  and  had  given  all  her  poor  little  heart  to  another 
man.  I have  forgotten  his  name,  but  we  will  call  him 
the  Other  Man.  He  had  no  money  and  no  prospects. 
He  was  not  even  good-looking ; and  I think  he 


88 


THE  OTHER  MAN. 


was  in  the  Commissariat  or  Transport.  But,  in  spite  of 
all  these  things,  she  loved  him  very  badly ; and  there 
was  some  sort  of  an  engagement  between  the  two  when 
Schreiderling  appeared  and  told  Mrs.  Gaurey  that  he 
wished  to  marry  her  daughter.  Then  the  other  engage- 
ment was  broken  off — washed  away  by  Mrs.  Gaurey's 
tears,  for  that  lady  governed  her  house  by  weeping  over 
disobedience  to  her  authority  and  the  lack  of  reverence 
she  received  in  her  old  age.  The  daughter  did  not  take 
after  her  mother.  She  never  cried.  Not  even  at  the 
wedding. 

The  Other  Man  bore  his  loss  quietly,  and  was  trans- 
ferred to  as  bad  a station  as  he  could  find.  Perhaps  the 
climate  consoled  him.  He  suffered  from  intermittent 
fever,  and  that  may  have  distracted  him  from  his  other 
trouble.  He  was  weak  about  the  heart  also.  Both  ways. 
One  of  the  valves  was  affected,  and  the  fever  made  it 
worse.  This  showed  itself  later  on. 

Then  many  months  passed,  and  Mrs.  Schreiderling  took 
to  being  ill.  She  did  not  pine  away  like  people  in  story 
books,  but  she  seemed  to  pick  up  every  form  of  illness 
that  went  about  a station,  from  simple  fever  upwards. 
She  was  never  more  than  ordinarily  pretty  at  the  best  of 
times;  and  the  illness  made  her  ugly.  Schreiderling 
said  so.  He  prided  himself  on  speaking  his  mind. 

When  she  ceased  being  pretty,  he  left  her  to  her  own 
devices,  and  went  back  to  the  lairs  of  his  bachelordom. 
She  used  to  trot  up  and  down  Simla  Mall  in  a forlorn  sort 
of  way,  with  a grayTerai  hat  well  on  the  back  of  her  head, 
and  a shocking  bad  saddle  under  her.  Schreiderling's 
generosity  stopped  at  the  horse.  He  said  that  any  saddle 
would  do  for  a woman  as  nervous  as  ]\Irs.  Schreider- 
ling. She  never  was  asked  to  dance,  because  she  did  not 
dance  well ; and  she  was  so  dull  and  uninteresting,  that 


THE  OTHER  MAN, 


89 

her  box  very  seldom  had  any  cards  in  it.  Schreiderling 
said  that  if  he  had  known  that  she  was  going  to  be  such 
a scare-crow  after  her  marriage,  he  would  never  have 
married  her.  He  always  prided  himself  on  speaking  his 
mind,  did  Schreiderling ! 

He  left  her  at  Simla  one  August,  and  went  down  to  his 
regiment.  Then  she  revived  a little,  but  she  never  recov- 
ered her  looks.  I found  out  at  the  Club  that  the  Other 
Man  is  coming  up  sick — very  sick — on  an  off  chance  of 
recovery.  The  fever  and  the  heart-valves  had  nearly 
killed  him.  She  knew  that,  too,  and  she  knew — what  I 
had  no  interest  in  knowing — when  he  was  coming  up.  I 
suppose  he  wrote  to  tell  her.  They  had  not  seen  each 
other  since  a month  before  the  wedding.  And  here  comes 
the  unpleasant  part  of  the  story. 

A late  call  kept  me  down  at  the  Dovedell  Hotel  till 
dusk  one  evening.  Mrs.  Schreiderling  had  been  flitting 
up  and  down  the  Mall  all  the  afternoon  in  the  rain. 
Coming  up  along  the  Cart-road,  a tonga  passed  me,  and 
my  pony,  tired  with  standing  so  long,  set  off  at  a canter. 
Just  by  the  road  down  to  the  Tonga  Office  Mrs.  Schreid- 
erling, dripping  from  head  to  foot,  was  waiting  for 
the  tonga.  I turned  up-hill,  as  the  tonga  was  no  affair 
of  mine  ; and  just  then  she  began  to  shriek.  I went 
back  at  once  and  saw,  under  the  Tonga  Office  lamps, 
Mrs.  Schreiderling  kneeling  in  the  wet  road  by  the 
the  back  seat  of  the  newly-arrived  tonga,  screaming 
hideously.  Then  she  fell  face  down  in  the  dirt  as  I 
came  up. 

Sitting  in  the  back  seat,  very  square  and  firm,  with  one 
hand  on  the  awning-stanchion  and  the  wet  pouring  off  his 
hat  and  moustache,  was  the  Other  Man — dead.  The 
sixty-mdle  up-hill  jolt  had  been  too  much  for  his  valve,  I 
suppose.  The  tonga-driver  said  ; — This  Sahib  died  two 


THE  OTHER  MAH. 


go 

stages  out  of  Solon.  Therefore,  I tied  him  with  a rope, 
lest  he  should  fall  out  by  the  way,  and  so  came  to  Simla. 
Will  the  Sahib  give  me  hukshish  P It”  pointing  to  the 
Other  Man,  should  have  given  one  rupee.” 

The  Other  Man  sat  with  a grin  on  his  face,  as  if  he 
enjoyed  the  joke  of  his  arrival;  and  Mrs.  Schreiderling, 
in  the  mud,  began  to  groan.  There  was  no  one  except  us 
four  in  the  office  and  it  was  raining  heavily.  The  first 
thing  was  to  take  Mrs.  Schriederling  home,  and  the 
second  was  to  prevent  her  name  from  being  mixed  up 
with  the  affair.  The  tonga-driver  received  five  rupees 
to  find  a bazar  'rickshaw  for  Mrs.  Schreiderling.  He  was 
to  tell  the  Tonga  Babu  afterwards  of  the  Other  Man,  and 
the  Babu  was  to  make  such  arrangements  as  seemed  best. 

Mrs.  Schreiderling  was  carried  into  the  shed  out  of  the 
rain,  and  for  three-quarters  of  an  hour  we  two  waited  for 
the  'rickshaw.  The  Other  Man  was  left  exactly  as  he  had 
arrived.  Mrs.  Schreiderling  would  do  everything  but  cry, 
which  might  have  helped  her.  She  tried  to  scream  as 
soon  as  her  senses  came  back,  and  then  she  began 
praying  for  the  Other  Man's  soul.  Had  she  not  been  as 
honest  as  the  day,  she  would  have  prayed  for  her  own 
soul  too.  I waited  to  hear  her  do  this,  but  she  did  not. 
Then  I tried  to  get  some  of  the  mud  off  her  habit.  Lastly, 
the  'rickshaw  came,  and  I got  her  away — partly  by  force. 
It  was  a terrible  business  from  beginning  to  end  ; but 
most  of  all  when  the  'rickshaw  had  to  squeeze  between 
the  wall  and  the  tonga,  and  she  saw  by  the  lamp-light 
that  thin,  yellow  hand  grasping  the  awning-stanchion. 

She  was  taken  home  just  as  everyone  was  going  to  a 
dance  at  Viceregal  Lodge — ''  Peterhoff ''  it  was  then — and 
the  doctor  found  out  that  she  had  fallen  from  her  horse, 
that  I had  picked  her  up  at  the  back  of  Jakko,  and  really 
deserved  great  credit  for  the  prompt  manner  in  which  I 


THE  OTHER  MAN. 


91 


had  secured  medical  aid.  She  did  not  die — men  of 
Schreiderling’s  stamp  marry  woman  who  don't  die  easily. 
They  live  and  grow  ugly. 

She  never  told  of  her  one  meeting,  since  her  marriage, 
with  the  Other  Man ; and,  when  the  chill  and  cough 
following  the  exposure  of  that  evening,  allowed  her 
abroad,  she  never  by  word  or  sign  alluded  to  having  met 
me  by  the  Tonga  Office.  Perhaps  she  never  knew. 

She  used  to  trot  up  and  down  the  Mall,  on  that  shock- 
ing bad  saddle,  looking  as  if  she  expected  to  meet  some 
one  round  the  corner  every  minute.  Two  years  after- 
ward, she  went  Home,  and  died — at  Bournemouth,  I 
think. 

Schreiderling,  when  he  grew  maudlin  at  Mess,  used  to 
talk  about  ‘‘my  poor  dear  wife.'^  He  always  set  great 
store  on  speaking  his  mind,  did  Schreiderling  I 


92 


CONSEQ,  UENCES. 


CONSEQUENCES. 

Rosicrucian  subtleties 
In  the  Orient  had  rise; 

Ye  may  find  their  teachers  still 
Under  Jacatala’s  Hill. 

Seek  ye  Bombast  Paracelsus, 

Read  what  Flood  the  Seeker  tells  us 
Of  the  Dominant  that  runs 
Through  the  cycles  of  the  Suns — 

Read  my  story  last  and  see 
Luna  at  her  apogee. 

There  are  yearly  appointments,  and  two-yearly  ap- 
pointments, and  five-yearly  appointments  at  Simla,  and 
there  are,  or  used  to  be,  permanent  appointments,  whereon 
you  stayed  up  for  the  term  of  your  natural  life  and  secured 
red  cheeks  and  a nice  income.  Of  course,  you  could  de- 
scend in  the  cold  weather  ; for  Simla  is  rather  dull  then. 

Tarrion  came  from  goodness  knows  where — all  away 
and  away  in  some  forsaken  part  of  Central  India,  where 
they  call  Pachmari  a ‘^Sanitarium,''  and  drive  behind 
trotting  bullocks,  I believe.  He  belonged  to  a regiment ; 
but  what  he  really  wanted  to  do  was  to  escape  from  his 
regiment  and  live  in  Simla  forever  and  ever.  He  had  no 
preference  for  anything  in  particular,  beyond  a good 
horse  and  a nice  partner.  He  thought  he  could  do  every- 
thing well  ; which  is  a beautiful  belief  when  you  hold  it 
with  all  your  heart.  He  was  clever  in  many  ways,  and 
good  to  look  at,  and  always  made  people  round  him  com- 
fortable— even  in  Central  India. 

So  he  went  up  to  Simla,  and,  because  he  was  clever 
and  amusing,  he  gravitated  naturally  to  Mrs.  Hauksbee, 


CONSEQ  UENCES. 


93 


who  could  forgive  everything  but  stupidity.  Once  he  did 
her  great  service  by  changing  the  date  on  an  invitation- 
card  for  a big  dance  which  Mrs.  Hauksbee  wished  to 
attend,  but  couldn’t  because  she  had  quarrelled  with  the 
A.-D.-C.,  who  took  care,  being  a mean  man,  to  invite  her 
to  a small  dance  on  the  6th  instead  of  the  big  Ball  of  the 
26th.  It  was  a very  clever  piece  of  forgery;  and  when 
Mrs.  Hauksbee  showed  the  A.-D.-C.  her  invitation-card, 
and  chaffed  him  mildly  for  not  better  managing  his  ven- 
dettas, he  really  thought  that  he  had  made  a mistake  ; and 
— which  was  wise — realized  that  it  was  no  use  to  fight 
with  Mrs.  Hauksbee.  She  was  grateful  to  Tarrion  and 
asked  what  she  could  do  for  him.  He  said  simply  : ‘‘  Fm 
a Freelance  up  here  on  leave,  on  the  look  out  for  what  I 
can  loot.  I haven’t  a square  inch  of  interest  in  all  Simla. 
My  name  isn’t  known  to  any  man  with  an  appointment 
in  his  gift,  and  I want  an  appointment — a good,  sound, 
pukka  one.  1 believe  you  can  do  anything  you  turn  your- 
self to.  Will  you  help  me  ” Mrs.  Hauksbee  thought  for  a 
minute,  and  passed  the  lash  of  her  riding-whip  through 
her  lips,  as  was  her  custom  when  thinking.  Then  her  eyes 
sparkled  and  she  said: — ‘‘I  will;”  and  she  shook 
hands  on  it.  Tarrion,  having  perfect  confidence  in  this 
great  woman,  took  no  further  thought  of  the  business 
at  all.  Except  to  wonder  what  sort  of  an  appointment 
he  would  win. 

Mrs.  Hauksbee  began  calculating  the  prices  of  all  the 
Heads  of  Departments  and  Members  of  Council  she 
knew,  and  the  more  she  thought  the  more  she  laughed, 
because  her  heart  was  in  the  game  and  it  amused  her. 
Then  she  took  a Civil  List  and  ran  over  a few  of  the 
appointments.  There  are  some  beautiful  appointments 
in  the  Civil  List.  Eventually,  she  decided  that,  though 
Tarrion  was  too  good  for  the  Political  Department,  she 


94 


CONSEQUENCES, 


had  better  begin  by  trying  to  get  him  in  there.  What 
were  her  own  plans  to  this  end,  does  not  matter  in  the 
least,  for  Luck  or  Fate  played  into  her  hands  and  she 
had  nothing  to  do  but  to  watCh  the  course  of  events  and 
take  the  credit  of  them. 

All  Viceroys,  when  they  first  come  out,  pass  through 
the  Diplomatic  Secrecy''  craze.  It  wears  off  in  time  ; 
but  they  all  catch  it  in  the  beginning,  because  they  are 
new  to  the  country.  The  particular  Viceroy  who  was 
suffering  from  the  complaint  just  then — this  was  a long 
time  ago,  before  Lord  Dufferin  ever  came  from  Canada, 
or  Lord  Ripon  from  the  bosom  of  the  English  Church — 
had  it  very  badly  ; and  the  result  was  that  men  who 
were  new  to  keeping  official  secrets  went  about  looking 
unhappy;  and  the  Viceroy  plumed  himself  on  the  way 
in  which  he  had  instilled  notions  of  reticence  into  his 
Staff. 

Now,  the  Supreme  Government  have  a careless  custom 
of  committing  what  they  do  to  printed  papers.  These 
papers  deal  with  all  sorts  of  things — from  the  payment 
of  Rs.  200  to  a "'secret  service"  native,  up  to  rebukes 
administered  to  Vakils  and  Motamids  of  Native  States, 
and  rather  brusque  letters  to  Native  Princes,  telling 
them  to  put  their  houses  in  order,  to  refrain  from 
kidnapping  women,  or  filling  offenders  with  pounded 
red  pepper,  and  eccentricities  of  that  kind.  Of  course, 
these  things  could  never  be  made  public,  because  Native 
Princes  never  err  officially,  and  their  States  are,  offi- 
cially as  well  administered  as  Our  territories.  Also,  the 
private  allowances  to  various  queer  people  are  not 
exactly  matters  to  put  into  newspapers,  though  they 
give  quaint  reading  sometimes.  When  the  Supreme 
Government  is  at  Simla,  these  papers  are  prepared  there, 
and  go  round  to  the  people  who  ought  to  see  them  in 


CONSEQUENCES. 


95 


office-boxes  or  by  post.  The  principle  of  secrecy  was 
to  that  Viceroy  quite  as  important  as  the  practice,  and 
he  held  that  a benevolent  despotism  like  Ours  should 
never  allow  even  little  things  such  as  appointments  of 
subordinate  clerks,  to  leak  out  till  the  proper  time. 
He  was  always  remarkable  for  his  principles. 

There  was  a very  important  batch  of  papers  in  prep- 
aration at  that  time.  It  had  to  travel  from  one  end  of 
Simla  to  the  other  by  hand.  It  was  not  put  into  an 
official  envelope,  but  a large,  square,  pale-pink  one  ; the 
matter  being  in  MS.  on  soft  crinkley  paper.  It  was 
addressed  to  The  Head  Clerk,  etc.,  etc.''  Now,  between 

The  Head  Clerk,  etc.,  etc."  and  ‘‘  Mrs.  Hauksbee  " and 
a flourish,  is  no  very  great  difference,  if  the  address  be 
written  in  a very  bad  hand,  as  this  was.  The  chapi'assi 
who  took  the  envelope  was  not  more  of  an  idiot  than 
most  chrapassis.  He  merely  forgot  where  this  most  un- 
official cover  was  to  be  delivered,  and  so  asked  the  first 
Englishman  he  met,  who  happened  to  be  a man  riding 
down  to  Annandale  in  a great  hurry.  The  Englishman 
hardly  looked,  said  : Hauesbee  Sahib  went 

on.  So  did  the  chaprassi,  because  that  letter  was  the  last 
in  stock  and  he  wanted  to  get  his  work  over.  There  was 
no  book  to  sign  ; he  thrust  the  letter  into  Mrs.  Hauksbee's 
bearer's  hands  aud  went  off  to  smoke  with  a friend.  Mrs. 
Hauksbee  was  expecting  some  cut-out  pattern  things  in 
flimsy  paper  from  a friend.  As  soon  as  she  got  the  big 
square  packet,  therefore,  she  said,  ‘^Oh,  the  dear  crea- 
ture ! " and  tore  it  open  with  a paper-knife,  and  all  the 
MS.  enclosures  tumbled  out  on  the  floor. 

Mrs.  Hauksbee  began  reading.  I have  said  the  batch 
was  rather  important.  That  is  quite  enough  for  you  to 
know.  It  referred  to  some  correspondence,  two  meas- 
ures, a peremptory  order  to  a native  chief  and  two  dozen 


CONSEQUENCES, 


96 

other  things.  Mrs.  Hauksbee  gasped  as  she  read,  for  the 
first  glimpse  of  the  naked  machinery  of  the  Great  Indian 
Government,  stripped  of  its  casings,  and  lacquer,  and 
paint,  and  guard-rails,  impresses  even  the  most  stupid 
man.  And  Mrs.  Hauksbee  was  a clever  woman.  She 
was  a little  afraid  at  first,  and  felt  as  if  she  had  laid  hold 
of  a lightning-flash  by  the  tail,  and  did  not  quite  know 
what  to  do  with  it.  There  were  remarks  and  initials  at 
the  side  of  the  papers  ; and  some  of  the  remarks  were 
rather  more  severe  than  the  papers.  The  initials  belonged 
to  men  who  are  all  dead  or  gone  now  ; but  they  were 
great  in  their  day.  Mrs.  Hauksbee  read  on  and  thought 
calmly  as  she  read.  Then  the  value  of  her  trove  struck 
her,  and  she  cast  about  for  the  best  method  of  using  it. 
Then  Tarrion  dropped  in,  and  they  read  through  all  the 
papers  together,  and  Tarrion,  not  knowing  how  she  had 
come  by  them,  vowed  that  Mrs.  Hauksbee  was  the  great- 
est woman  on  earth.  Which  I believe  was  true,  or  nearly 
so. 

‘'The  honest  course  is  always  the  best,”  said  Tarrion 
after  an  hour  and  a half  of  study  and  conversation.  “All 
things  considered,  the  Intelligence  Branch  is  about  my 
form.  Either  that  or  the  Foreign  Office.  I go  to  lay 
siege  to  the  High  Gods  in  their  Temples.” 

He  did  not  seek  a little  man,  or  a little  big  man,  or 
a weak  Head  of  a strong  Department,  but  he  called  on 
the  biggest  and  strongest  man  that  the  Government 
owned,  and  explained  that  he  wanted  an  appointment 
at  Simla  on  a good  salary.  The  compound  insolence 
of  this  amused  the  Strong  Man,  and,  as  he  had  nothing 
to  do  for  the  moment,  he  listened  to  the  proposals  of 
the  audacious  Tarrion.  “You  have,  I presume,  some 
special  qualifications,  besides  the  gift  of  self-assertion, 
for  the  claims  you  put  forward?”  said  the  Strong  Man. 


CONSEQUENCES, 


97 


* That,  Sir,"  said  Tarrion,  ‘‘is  for  you  to  judge."  Then 
he  began,  for  he  had  a good  memory,  quoting  a few 
of  the  more  important  notes  in  the  papers  — slowly  and 
one  by  one  as  a man  drops  chlorodyne  into  a glass. 
When  he  had  reached  the  peremptory  order  — and  it 
was  a peremptory  order — the  Strong  Man  was  troubled. 

Tarrion  woundup  : — “And  I fancy  that  special  knowl 
edge  of  this  kind  is  at  least  as  valuable  for,  let  us  say,  a 
berth  in  the  Foreign  Office,  as  the  fact  of  being  the  nephew 
of  a distinguished  officers  wife."  That  hit  the  Strong  Man 
hard,  for  the  last  appointment  to  the  Foreign  Office  had 
been  by  black  favor,  and  he  knew  it  “ Fll  see  what  I 
can  do  for  you,"  said  the  Strong  Man,  “ Many  thanks,'" 
said  Tarrion,  Then  he  left,  and  the  Strong  Man  departed 
to  see  how  the  appointment  was  to  be  blocked. 


Followed  a pause  of  eleven  days ; with  thunders  and 
lightnings  and  much  telegraphing.  The  appointment  was 
not  a very  important  one,  carrying  only  between  Rs.  500 
and  Rs.  700  a month  ; but,  as  the  Viceroy  said,  it  was  the 
principle  of  diplomatic  secrecy  that  had  to  be  maintained, 
and  it  was  more  than  likely  that  a boy  so  well  supplied 
with  special  information  would  be  worth  translating.  So 
they  translated  him.  They  must  have  suspected  him, 
though  he  protested  that  his  information  was  due  to  sin- 
gular talents  of  his  own.  Now,  much  of  this  story,  includ- 
ing the  after-history  of  the  missing  envelope,  you  must 
fill  in  for  yourself,  because  there  are  reasons  why  it  can- 
not be  written.  If  you  do  not  know  about  things  Up  Above, 
you  won't  understand  how  to  fill  in,  and  you  will  say  it 
is  impossible. 

What  the  Viceroy  said  when  Tarrion  was  introduced  to 
him  was: — “So,  this  is  the  boy  who  ‘ rushed'  the  Govern- 


CONSEQUENCES. 


98 

ment  of  India,  is  it  ? Recollect,  Sir,  that  is  not  done  twice.'^ 
So  he  must  have  known  something. 

What  Tarrion  said  when  he  saw  his  appointment  gazet- 
ted was: — If  Mrs.  Hauksbee  were  twenty  years  younger, 
and  I her  husband,  I should  be  Viceroy  of  India  in  fifteen 
years/ 

What  Mrs.  Hauksbee  said,  when  Tarrion  thanked  her, 
almost  with  tears  in  his  eyes,  was  first : — I told  you  so  1 
and  next,  to  herself ; — “ What  fools  men  are  i " 


THE  CONVERSION  OF  AURELIAN  GO GGIN. 


99 


M 


THE  CONVERSION  OF^URELIAN  McGOGGIN. 

Ride  with  an  idle  whip,  ride  with  an  unused  heel. 

But,  once  in  a way,  there  will  come  a day 

When  the  colt  must  be  taught  to  feel 

The  lash  that  falls,  and  the  curb  that  galls,  and  the  sting  of  the  rowelled  steel. 

Lifers  Handicap, 

This  is  not  a tale  exactly.  It  is  a Tract  ; and  I am 
immensely  proud  of  it.  Making  a Tract  is  a Feat. 

Every  man  is  entitled  to  his  own  religious  opinions  ; 
but  no  man — least  of  all  a junior — has  a right  to  thrust 
these  down  other  men's  throats.  The  Government  sends 
out  weird  Civilians  now  and  again  ; But  McGoggin  was 
the  queerest  exported  for  a long  time.  He  was  clever 
— brilliantly  clever — but  his  cleverness  worked  the  wrong 
way.  Instead  of  keeping  to  the  study  of  the  vernaculars, 
he  had  read  some  books  written  by  a man  called  Comte, 
I think,  and  a man  called  Spencer,  and  a Professor  Clif- 
ford. [You  will  find  these  books  in  the  Library.]  They 
deal  with  people's  insides  from  the  point  of  view  of  men 
who  have  no  stomachs.  There  was  no  order  against  his 
reading  them  ; but  his  Mamma  should  have  smacked 
him.  They  fermented  in  his  head,  and  he  came  out  to 
India  with  a rarefied  religion  over  and  above  his  work. 
It  was  not  much  of  a creed.  It  only  proved  that  men 
had  no  souls,  and  there  was  no  God  and  no  hereafter, 
and  that  you  must  worry  along  somehow  for  the  good  of 
Humanity. 


1 oo  the  conversion  of  a URELIAN  M'  goggin. 

One  of  its  minor  tenets  seemed  to  be  that  the  one  thing 
more  sinful  than  giving  an  order  was  obeying  it.  At  least, 
that  was  what  McGoggin  said  ; but  I suspect  he  had 
misread  his  primers. 

I do  not  say  a word  against  this  creed.  It  was  made 
up  in  Town  where  there  is  nothing  but  machinery  and 
asphalte  and  building — all  shut  in  by  the  fog.  Natural- 
ly, a man  grows  to  think  that  there  is  no  one  higher 
than  himself,  and  that  the  Metropolitan  Board  of  Works 
made  everything.  But  in  this  country,  where  you  really 
see  humanity — raw,  brown,  naked  humanity — with  no- 
thing between  it  and  the  blazing  sky,  and  only  the 
used-up,  over-handled  earth  underfoot,  the  notion  some- 
how dies  away,  and  most  folk  come  back  to  simpler 
theories.  Life,  in  India,  is  not  long  enough  to  waste  in 
proving  that  there  is  no  one  in  particular  at  the  head  ol 
affairs.  For  this  reason.  The  Deputy  is  above  the 
Assistant,  the  Commissioner  above  the  Deputy,  the 
Lieutenant-Governor  above  the  Commissioner,  and  the 
Viceroy  above  all  four,  under  the  orders  of  the  Secre- 
tary of  State  who  is  responsible  to  the  Empress.  If  the 
Empress  be  not  responsible  to  her  Maker — if  there  is  no 
Maker  for  her  to  be  responsible  to — the  entire  system 
of  Our  administration  must  be  wrong.  Which  is  mani- 
festly impossible.  At  Home  men  are  to  be  excused. 
They  are  stalled  up  a good  deal  and  get  intellectually 

beany.”  When  you  take  a gross,  ‘'beany”  horse  to 
exercise,  he  slavers  and  slobbers  over  the  bit  till  you 
can't  see  the  horns.  But  the  bit  is  there  just  the  same. 
Men  do  not  get  “ beany  ” in  India.  The  climate  and  the 
work  are  against  playing  bricks  with  words. 

If  McGoggin  had  kept  his  creed,  with  the  capital  letters 
and  the  endings  in  “ isms,”  to  himself,  no  one  would 
have  cared  ; but  his  grandfathers  on  both  sides  had  been 


THE  CONVERSION  OF  AURELIAN  M'> GOGGIN  loi 


Wesleyan  preachers,  and  the  preaching  strain  came  out 
in  his  mind.  He  wanted  everyone  at  the  Club  to  see 
that  they  had  no  souls  too,  and  to  help  him  to  eliminate 
his  Creator.  As  a good  many  men  told  him,  he  undoubt- 
edly had  no  soul,  because  he  was  so  young,  but  it  did 
not  follow  that  his  seniors  were  equally  undeveloped  ; 
and,  whether  there  was  another  world  or  not,  a man  still 
wanted  to  read  his  papers  in  this.  But  that  is  not  the 
point — that  is  not  the  point  Aurelian  used  to  say.  Then 
men  threw  sofa-cushions  at  him  and  told  him  to  go  to 
any  particular  place  he  might  believe  in.  They  christened 
him  the  ‘‘  Blastoderm,'* — he  said  he  came  from  a family 
of  that  name  somewhere,  in  the  pre-historic  ages, — and, 
by  insult  and  laughter  strove  to  choke  him  dumb,  for  he 
was  an  unmitigated  nuisance  at  the  Club  ; besides  being 
an  offence  to  the  older  men.  His  Deputy  Commissioner, 
who  was  working  on  the  Frontier  when  Aurelian  was 
rolling  on  a bed-quilt,  told  him  that,  for  a clever  boy, 
Aurelian  was  a very  big  idiot.  And,  you  know,  if  he  had 
gone  on  with  his  work,  he  would  have  been  caught  up  to 
the  Secretariat  in  a few  years.  He  was  just  the  type  that 
goes  there — all  head,  no  physique  and  a hundred  theories. 
Not  a soul  was  interested  in  McGoggin's  soul.  He  might 
have  had  two,  or  none,  or  somebody  else’s.  His  business 
was  to  obey  orders  and  keep  abreast  of  his  files  instead 
of  devastating  the  Club  with  ''  isms." 

He  worked  brilliantly  ; but  he  could  not  accept  any 
order  without  trying  to  better  it.  That  was  the  fault  of 
his  creed.  It  made  men  too  responsible  and  left  too  much 
to  their  honor.  You  can  sometimes  ride  an  old  horse  in 
a halter  ; but  never  a colt.  McGoggin  took  more  trouble 
over  his  cases  than  any  of  the  men  of  his  year.  He  may 
have  fancied  that  thirty-page  judgments  on  fifty-rupee 
cases — both  sides  perjured  to  the  gullet — advanced  the 


102  the  conversion  of  a UR  ELI  an  GOGGIN. 

cause  of  Humanity.  At  any  rate,  he  worked  too  much, 
and  worried  and  fretted  over  the  rebukes  he  received,  and 
lectured  away  on  his  ridiculous  creed  out  of  office,  till  the 
Doctor  had  to  warn  him  that  he  was  overdoing*  it.  No 
man  can  toil  eighteen  annas  in  the  rupee  in  June  without 
suffering.  But  McGoggin  was  still  intellectually  '‘beany 
and  proud  of  himself  and  his  powers,  and  he  would  take 
no  hint.  He  worked  nine  hours  a day  steadily. 

" Very  well,'*  said  the  doctor,  " you’ll  break  down  be- 
cause you  are  over-engined  for  your  beam.’’  McGoggin 
was  a little  chap. 

One  day,  the  collapse  came — as  dramatically  as  if  it 
had  been  meant  to  embellish  a Tract. 

It  was  just  before  the  Rains.  We  were  sitting  in  the 
verandah  in  the  dead,  hot,  close  air,  gasping  and  pray- 
ing that  the  black-blue  clouds  would  let  down  and  bring 
the  cool.  Very,  very  far  away,  there  was  a faint  whisper, 
which  was  the  roar  of  the  Rains  breaking  over  the  river. 
One  of  the  men  heard  it,  got  out  of  his  chair,  listened, 
and  said,  naturally  enough  : — "Thank  God  ! ” 

Then  the  Blastoderm  turned  in  his  place  and  said  : — 
"Why?  I assure  you  it’s  only  the  result  of  perfectly 
natural  causes — atmospheric  phenomena  of  the  simplest 
kind.  Why  you  should,  therefore,  return  thanks  to  a 
Being  who  never  did  exist — who  is  only  a figment — ” 

" Blastoderm,”  grunted  the  man  in  the  next  chair,  "dry 
up,  and  throw  me  over  the  Pioneer,  We  know  all  about 
your  figments.  ” The  Blastoderm  reached  out  to  the  table, 
took  up  one  paper,  and  jumped  as  if  something  had  stung 
him.  Then  he  handed  the  paper  over. 

"As  I was  saying,”  he  went  on  slowly  and  with  an 
effort — " due  to  perfectly  natural  causes — perfectly  natural 
causes.  I mean — ” 

"Hi!  Blastoderm,  you’ve  given  me  the  Calcutta  Mer* 
cantile  Advertiser P 


THE  CONVERSION  OF  AURELIAN  M'> GO GG IN  103 

The  dust  got  up  in  little  whorls,  while  the  tree-tops 
rocked  and  the  kites  whistled.  But  no  one  was  looking 
at  the  coming  of  the  Rains.  We  were  all  staring  at  the 
Blastoderm  who  had  risen  from  his  chair  and  was  fighting 
with  his  speech.  Then  he  said,  still  more  slowly  : — 

‘‘Perfectly  conceivable dictionary red  oak 

amenable cause retaining shuttlecock 

alone. 

“Blastoderm's  drunk,"  said  one  man.  But  the  Blas- 
toderm was  not  drunk.  He  looked  at  us  in  a dazed  sort 
of  way,  and  began  motioning  with  his  hands  in  the  half 
light  as  the  clouds  closed  overhead.  Then — with  a 
scream  : — 

‘ ‘ What  is  it  ? Can't reserve attainable 

market obscure " 

But  his  speech  seemed  to  freeze  in  him,  and — just  as 
the  lightning  shot  two  tongues  that  cut  the  whole  sky 
into  three  pieces  and  the  rain  fell  in  quivering  sheets — • 
the  Blastoderm  was  struck  dumb.  He  stood  pawing  and 
champing  like  a hard-held  horse,  and  his  eyes  were  full 
of  terror. 

The  Doctor  came  over  in  three  minutes,  and  heard 
the  story.  “It's  aphasia/' he  said.  “Take  him  to  his 
room.  I knew  the  smash  would  come. " We  carried 
the  Blastoderm  across  in  the  pouring  rain  to  his  quar- 
ters, and  the  Doctor  gave  him  bromide  of  potassium  to 
make  him  sleep. 

Then  the  Doctor  came  back  to  us  and  told  us  that 
aphasia  was  like  all  the  arrears  of  “Punjab  Head"  falling 
in  a lump  ; and  that  only  once  before — in  the  case  of  a 
sepoy — had  he  met  with  so  complete  a case.  I myself 
have  seen  mild  aphasia  in  an  overworked  man,  but  this 
sudden  dumbness  was  uncanny — though,  as  the  Blas- 
toderm himself  might  have  said,  due  to  “perfectly  natural 
causes. " 


104  CONVERSIOAr  OF  AURELIAN  M^GOCGIAT, 

‘‘ Hell  have  to  take  leave  after  this,”  said  the  Doctor; 
‘‘  He  won't  be  fit  for  work  for  another  three  months. 
No  ; it  isn't  insanity  or  anything  like  it  It's  only  com- 
plete loss  of  control  over  the  speech  and  memory.  I 
fancy  it  will  keep  the  Blastoderm  quiet,  though.” 

Two  days  later,  the  Blastoderm  found  his  tongue  again 
The  first  question  he  asked  was  : — “ What  was  it .?  ” The 
Doctor  enlightened  him.  ‘‘But  I can't  understand  it  ! ” 
said  the  Blastoderm  ; “ I'm  quite  sane  ; but  I can't  be 
sure  of  my  mind,  it  seems — my  own  memory — can  I ” 

“Go  up  into  the  Hills  for  three  months,  and  don't  think 
about  it,  ” said  the  Doctor. 

“ But  I can't  understand  it,”  repeated  the  Blastoderm  ; 
“ It  was  my  owfi  mind  and  memory.” 

“ I can't  help  it,  ” said  the  Doctor;  there  are  a good 
many  things  you  can't  understand  ; and,  by  the  time  you 
have  put  in  my  length  of  service,  you’ll  know  exactly  how 
much  a man  dare  call  his  own  in  this  world.” 

The  stroke  cowed  the  Blastoderm.  He  could  not  un- 
derstand it.  He  went  into  the  Hills  in  fear  and  trembling, 
wondering  whether  he  would  be  permitted  to  reach  the 
end  of  any  sentence  he  began. 

This  gave  him  a wholesome  feeling  of  mistrust.  The 
legitimate  explanation,  that . he  had  been  overworking 
himself,  failed  to  satisfy  him.  Something  had  wiped  his 
lips  of  speech,  as  a mother  wipes  the  milky  lips  of  her 
child,  and  he  was  afraid — horribly  afraid. 

So  the  Club  had  rest  when  he  returned  ; and  if  ever  you 
come  across  Aurelian  McGoggin  laying  down  the  law  on 
things  Human — he  doesn't  seem  to  know  as  much  as  he 
used  to  about  things  Divine — put  your  forefinger  on  your 
lip  for  a moment,  and  see  what  happens. 

Don't  blame  me  if  he  throws  a glass  at  your  head  J 


THE  TAKING  OF  LUNGTUNGPEN 


105 


THE  TAKING  OF  LUNGTUNGPEN. 

So  we  loosed  a bloomin’  volley, 

An’  we  made  the  beggars  cut, 

An’  when  our  pouch  was  emptied  out, 

We  used  the  bloomin’  butt, 

Ho!  My* 

Don’t  yer  come  anigh, 

When  Tommy  is  a playin’  with  the  baynit  an’  the  butt. 

Barrack  Room  Ballad, 

My  friend  Private  Mulvaney  told  me  this,  sitting  on  the 
parapet  of  the  road  to  Dagshai,  when  we  were  hunting 
butterflies  together.  He  had  theories  about  the  Army,  and 
colored  clay  pipes  perfectly.  He  said  that  the  young 
soldier  is  the  best  to  work  with,  ‘‘  on  account  av  the  sur- 
passing innocinse  av  the  child.'’ 

‘‘  Now,  listen  ! " said  Mulvaney,  throwing  himself  full 
length  on  the  wall  in  the  sun.  I’m  a born  scutt  av  the 
barrick-room  ! The  Army’s  mate  an’  dhrink  to  me,  bekaze 
I’m  wan  av  the  few  that  can’t  quit  ut.  I’ve  put  in  sivin- 
teen  years,  an’  the  pipeclay’s  in  the  marrow  av  me.  Av  I 
cud  have  kept  out  av  wan  big  dhrink  a month,  I wud  have 
been  a Hon’ry  Lift’nint  by  this  time — a nuisince  to  my 
betthers,  a laughin’-shtock  to  my  equils,  an’  a curse  to 
meself.  Bein’  fwhat  I am.  I’m  Privit  Mulvaney,  wid  no 
good-conduc’  pay  an’  a devourin’  thirst.  Always  barrin* 
me  little  frind  Bobs  Bahadur,  I know  as  much  about  the 
Army  as  most  men.” 

I said  something  here. 

“ Wolseley  be  shot  I Betune  you  an’  me  an’  that  but- 


Io6  the  taking  of  lungtungpen. 

terfly  net,  he’s  a ramblin’,  incoherint  sort  av  a divil,  wid 
wan  oi  on  the  Quane  an’  the  Coort,  an*  the  other  on  his 
blessed  silf — everlastin’ly  playing  Saysar  an*  Alexandrier 
rowled  into  a lump.  Now  Bobs  is  a sinsible  little  man. 
Wid  Bobs  an’  a few  three-year-olds.  I’d  swape  any  army 
av  the  earth  into  a jhairun,  an’  throw  it  away  aftherwards. 
Faith,  I’m  not  jokin’ ! ’Tis  the  bhoys — the  raw  bhoys — 
that  don*t  know  fwhat  a bullut  manes,  an’  wudn’t  care  av 
they  did — that  dhu  the  work.  They’re  crammed  wid  bull- 
mate  till  they  fairly  ramps  wid  good  livin’ ; and  thin,  av 
they  don’t  fight,  they  blow  each  other’s  hids  off.  ’Tis  the 
trut’  I’m  tellin’  you.  They  shud  be  kept  on  dal-hhaf  an’ 
^yn'in  the  hot  weather;  but  there’d  be  a mut’ny  av  ’twas 
done. 

‘‘Did  ye  iver  hear  how  Privit  Mulvaney  tuk  the  town 
av  Lungtungpen.?  I thought  not!  ’Twas  the  Lift’nint 
got  the  credit;  but  ’twas  me  planned  the  schame.  A little 
before  I was  inviladed  from  Burma,  me  an’  four  an’  twenty 
young  wans  undher  a Lift’nint  Brazenose,  was  ruinin’  our 
dijeshins  thryin’  to  catch  dacoits.  An’  such  double-ended 
divils  I niver  knew  ! ’Tis  only  a dah  an’  a Snider  that 
makes  a dacoit  Widout  thim,  he’s  a paceful  cultivator, 
an’  felony  for  to  shoot  We  hunted,  an’  we  hunted,  an’ 
tuk  fever  an’  elephints  now  an’  again;  but  no  dacoits. 
Evenshually,  we  puckarowed  wan  man.  ‘Trate  him  tin- 
derly,’  sez  the  Lift’nint  So  I tuk  him  away  into  the 
jungle,  wid  the  Burmese  Interprut’r  an’  my  clanin’-rod. 
Sez  I to  the  man  : — ‘My  paceful  squireen,’  sez  I,  ‘you 
shquot  on  your  hunkers  an’  dimonstrate  to  my  frind  here, 
where  frinds  are  whin  the.y’re  at  home.?’  Wid  that 
I introjuced  him  to  the  clanin’-rod,  and  he  comminst  to 
jabber  ; the  Interprut’r  interprutin’  in  betweens,  an’  me 
helpin’  the  Intilligince  Departmint  wid  my  clanin’-rod 
whin  the  man  misremimbered. 


THE  TAKING  OF  LUNGTUNGPEN 


107 


‘‘Prisintly,  I learnt  that,  acrost  the  river,  about  nine 
miles  away,  was  a town  just  dhrippin  wid  dahs,  an’  bohs 
an’  arrows,  an’  dacoits,  an’  elephints,  an  jingles.  ‘Good ' ’ 
sez  1.  ‘This  office  will  now  close  !’ 

“That  night,  I went  to  the  Lift’nint  an’  communicates 
my  information.  I never  thought  much  of  Lift’nint  Braze- 
nose  till  that  night.  He  was  shtiff  wid  books  an’  the- 
ouries,  an’  all  manner  av  thrimmin’s  no  manner  av  use. 
‘Town  did  ye  say  } ’ sez  he.  ‘Accordin’  to  the  \}n^-ouries 
av  War,  we  shud  wait  for  reinforcemints.’  ‘Faith!’ 
thinks  I,  ‘we’d  betther  dig  our  graves  thin’;  for  the  near- 
est throops  was  up  to  their  shtocks  in  the  marshes  out 
Mimbu  way.  ‘But,’  says  the  Lift’nint,  ‘since  ’tis  a speshil 
case.  I’ll  make  an  excepshin.  We’ll  visit  this  Lungtung- 
pen  to-night.’ 

“The  bhoys  was  fairly  woild  wid  deloight  whin  I 
tould  ’em  ; an’  by  this  an’  that,  they  wint  through  the 
jungle  like  buck-rabbits.  About  midnight  we  come  to 
the  shtrame  which  I had  clane  forgot  to  minshin  to  my 
orficer.  I was  on,  ahead,  wid  four  bhoys,  an’  I thought 
that  the  Lift’nint  might  want  to  \lnQ-ourize.  ‘Shtrip, 
bhoys  1 ’ sez  1.  ‘ Shtrip  to  the  buff,  an’  shwim  in  where 

glory  waits  I ’ ‘ But  I cant  shwim  I ’ sez  two  av  thim. 

‘ To  think  I should  live  to  hear  that  from  a bhoy  wid  a 
board-school  edukashin  !’ sez  1.  ‘Take  a lump  av  thim- 
ber,  an’  me  an’  Conolly  here  will  ferry  ye  over,  ye  young 
ladies  ! ’ 

“We  got  an  ould  tree-trunk,  an’  pushed  off  wid  the 
kits  an’  the  rifles  on  it.  The  night  was  chokin’  dhark,  an’ 
just  as  we  was  fairly  embarked,  I heard  the  Lift’nint 
behind  av  me  callin’  out.  ‘There’s  a bit  av  a nullah 
here,  Sorr,’ sez  I,  ‘but  I can  feel  the  bottom  already.’ 
So  I cud,  for  I was  not  a yard  from  the  bank. 

“ ‘ Bit  av  a nullah  ! Bit  av  an  eshtuary  ! ’ sez  the  Lift’- 


Io8  the  taring  of  lungtungpen. 

nint  ^ Go  on,  ye  mad  Irishman  ! Shtrip  bhoys  ! ' I 
heard  him  laugh  ; an'  the  bhoys  begun  shtrippin’  an'  rol- 
lin' a log  into  the  wather  to  put  their  kits  on.  So  me 
an'  Conolly  shtruck  out  through  the  warm  wather  wid  our 
log,  an'  the  rest  come  on  behind. 

“ That  shtrame  was  miles  woide  ! Orth'ris,  on  the 
rear-rank  log,  whispers  we  had  got  into  the  Thames  be- 
low Sheerness  by  mistake.  ‘ Kape  on  shwimmin ' ye 
little  blayguard,'  sez  I,  ‘an'  don't  go  pokin'  your  dirty 
jokes  at  the  Irriwaddy.'  ‘ Silince,  men!'  sings  out  the 
Lift'nint.  So  we  shwum  on  into  the  black  dhark,  wid 
our  chests  on  the  logs,  trustin'  in  the  Saints  an'  the  luck 
av  the  British  Army. 

“ Evenshually,  we  hit  ground — a bit  av  sand — an' a 
man.  I put  my  heel  on  the  back  av  him.  He  skreeched 
an'  ran. 

‘ ‘ ‘ Now  weVe  done  it ! ' sez  Lift'nint  Brazenose.  ‘ Where 
the  Divil  is  Lungtungpen  ? ' There  was  about  a minute 
and  a half  to  wait.  The  bhoys  laid  a hould  av  their  rifles 
an'  some  thried  to  put  their  belts  on  ; we  was  marchin' 
wid  fixed  baynits  av  coorse.  Tliin  we  knew  where 
Lungtungpen  was  ; for  we  had  hit  the  river-wall  av  it  in 
the  dhark,  an'  the  whole  town  blazed  wid  thim  messin' 
jingles  an'  Sniders  like  a cat's  back  on  a frosty  night. 
They  was  firin'  all  ways  at  wanst  ; but  over  our  bids  into 
the  shtrame. 

“ ‘ Have  you  got  your  rifles  ? ' sez  Brazenose.  ‘Got  'em  ! ' 
sez  Orth'ris,  ‘ I've  got  that  thief  Mulvaney's  for  all  my 
back-pay,  an'  she'll  kick  my  heart  sick  wid  that  blun- 
derin'long  shtock  av  hers.'  ‘Go  on  I ' yells  Brazenose, 
whippin'  his  sword  out.  ‘ Go  on  an'  take  the  town  ! An' 
the  Lord  have  mercy  on  our  sowls  ! 

“ Thin  the  bhoys  gave  wan  divastatin'  howl,  an'  pranced 
into  the  dhark,  feelin'  for  the  town,  an'  blindin'  an’  stiffin' 


THE  TAKING  OF  LUNG TUNGFEN. 


109 


like  Cavalry  Ridin'  Masters  whin  the  grass  pricked  their 
bare  legs.  I hammered  wid  the  butt  at  some  bamboo 
thing  that  felt  wake,  an'  the  rest  come  an'  hammered 
contagious,  while  the  jingles  was  jingling,  an'  feroshus 
yells  from  inside  was  shplittin'  our  ears.  We  was  too 
close  under  the  wall  for  thim  to  hurt  us. 

Evenshually,  the  thing,  whatever  ut  was,  bruk  ; an' 
the  six  and  twinty  av  us  tumbled,  wan  afther  the  other, 
naked  as  we  was  borrun,  into  the  town  of  Luntungpen. 
There  was  a melly  av  a sumpshus  kind  for  a whoile ; but 
whether  they  tuk  us,  all  white  an'  wet,  for  a new  breed, 
av  divil,  or  a new  kind  av  dacoit,  I don't  know.  They 
ran  as  though  we  was  both,  an'  we  wint  into  thim, 
baynit  an'  butt,  shriekin'  wid  laughin'.  There  was 
torches  in  the  shtreets,  an'  I saw  little  Orth'ris  rubbin’ 
his  showlther  ivry  time  he  loosed  my  long-shtock  Mar- 
tini ; an'  Brazenose  walkin'  into  the  gang  wid  his  sword, 
like  Diarmid  av  the  Golden  Collar — barring  he  hadn't  a 
stitch  av  clothin'  on  him.  We  diski vered  elephints  wid 
deceits  under  their  bellies,  an’,  what  wid  wan  thing  an' 
another,  we  was  busy  till  mornin'  takin'  possession  av 
the  town  of  Lungtungpen. 

‘‘Thin  we  halted  an'  formed  up,  the  wimmen  howlin' 
in  the  houses  an’  Lift'nint  Brazenose  blushin'  pink  in  the 
light  av  the  mornin'  sun.  'Twas  the  most  ondasint  p'rade 
I iver  tuk  a hand  in.  Foive  and  twenty  privits  an'  a 
orficer  av  the  line  in  review  ordher,  an'  not  as  much  as 
wud  dust  a fife  betune  'em  all  in  the  way  of  clothin'  ! Eight 
av  us  had  their  belts  an'  pouches  on  ; but  the  rest  had 
gone  in  wid  a handful  av  cartridges  an*  the  skin  God  gave 
him.  They  was  as  nakid  as  Vanus. 

“ ‘Number  off  from  the  right ! ' sez  the  Lift'nint.  ‘ Odd 
numbers  fall  out  to  dress  ; even  numbers  pathrol  the 
town  till  relieved  by  the  dressing  party.'  Let  me  tell 


no 


THE  TAKING  OF  LUNGTUNGPEN. 


you,  pathrollin’  a town  wid  nothing  on  is  an  ex/><^rience, 
I pathrolled  for  tin  minutes,  an'  begad,  before  'twas  over, 
I blushed.  The  women  laughed  so.  I niver  blushed 
before  or  since  ; but  I blushed  all  over  my  carkiss  thin. 
Orth'ris  didn't  pathrol.  He  sez  only  : — ‘‘  Portsmith  Bar- 
ricks  an'  the  'Ard  av  a Sunday  I ' Thin  he  lay  down  an' 
fowled  anyways  wid  laughin'. 

“ When  we  was  all  dhressed,  we  counted  the  dead — 
sivinty-foive  dacoits  besides  wounded.  We  tuk  five  ele- 
phints,  a hunder'  an'  sivinty  Sniders,  two  hunder'  dahs, 
and  a lot  av  other  burglarious  thruck.  Not  a man  av  us 
was  hurt — excep'  may  be  the  Lift’nint,  an'  he  from  the 
shock  to  his  dasincy. 

“The  Headman  av  Luntungpen,  who  surrinder'd  him- 
self, asked  the  Interprut’r: — ‘Av  the  English  fight  like 
that  wid  their  clo'es  off,  what  in  the  wurruld  do  they  do 
wid  their  clo'es  on  ? ' Orth'ris  began  rowlin'  his  eyes  an' 
crackin'  his  fingers  an'  dancin'  a step-dance  for  to  impress 
the  Headman.  He  ran  to  his  house  ; an'  we  spint  the 
rest  av  the  day  carryin'  the  Lift’nint  on  our  showlthers 
round  the  town,  an'  playin'  wid  the  Burmese  babies — fat, 
iittle,  brown  little  divils,  as  pretty  as  pictures. 

“Whin  I was  inviladed  for  the  dysent'ry  to  India,  I sez 
to  the  Lift'nint : — ‘ Sorr,'  sez  I,  ‘ you've  the  makin's  in  you 
av  a great  man  ; but,  av  you'll  let  an  ould  sodger  spake, 
you're  too  fond  of  ih.e-ourism\  He  shuk  hands  wid  me 
and  sez: — ‘Hit  high,  hit  low,  there's  no  plasin  you, 
Mulvaney.  You've  seen  me  waltzin'  through  Lungtung- 
pen  like  a Red  Injin  widout  the  war-paint,  an’  you  say 
I'm  too  fond  av  ihe-ourisiW  ‘Sorr,’  sez  I,  for  I loved 
the  bhoy  ; ‘ I wud  waltz  wid  you  in  that  condishin 
through  Hell,  an'  so  wud  the  rest  av  the  men  ! ' Thin 
I wint  downshtrame  in  the  flat  an'  left  him  my  blessin/ 


THE  TAKING  OP  LUNGTUNGPEN. 


Ill 


May  the  Saints  carry  ut  where  ut  shud  go,  for  he  was  a 
fine  upstandin'  young  orficer. 

‘‘  To  reshume  I Fwhat  Tve  said  jist  shows  the  use  av 
three-year-olds.  Wud  fifty  seasoned  sodgers  have  taken 
Lungtungpen  in  the  dhark  that  way } No ! They'd 
know  the  risk  av  fever  an  chill.  Let  alone  the  shootin'. 
Two  hundher  might  have  done  ut.  But  the  three-year- 
olds  know  little  an'  care  less  ; an'  where  there's  no  fear, 
there's  no  danger.  Catch  thim  young,  feed  thim  high, 
an'  by  the  honor  av  that  great,  little  man  Bobs,  behind 
a good  orficer  'tisn't  only  dacoits  they'd  smash  wid  their 
clones  off — 'tis  Con-ti-nental  Ar-r-r-mies  ! They  tuk  Lung- 
tungpen nakid  ; an'  they'd  take  St.  Pethersburg  in  theii 
dhrawers  ! Begad,  they  would  that ! 

‘‘Here's  your  pipe,  Sorr!  Shmoke  her  tinderly  wid 
honey-dew,  afther  letting  the  reek  av  the  Canteen  plug 
die  away.  But  'tis  no  good,  thanks  to  you  all  the  same, 
fillin'  my  pouch  wid  your  chopped  hhoosa.  Canteen 
baccy's  like  the  Army.  It  shpoils  a man's  taste  for 
moilder  things. " 

So  saying,  Mulvaney  took  up  his  butterfly-net,  and 
returned  to  barracks. 


112 


A GERM  DESTROYER. 


A GERM  DESTROYER. 

Pleasant  it  is  for  the  Little  Tin  Gods 
When  great  Jove  nods  ; 

But  Little  Tin  Gods  make  their  little  mistakes 

In  missing  the  hour  when  great  Jove  wakes. 

As  a general  rule,  it  is  inexpedient  to  meddle  with 
questions  of  State  in  a land  where  men  are  highly  paid 
to  work  them  out  for  you.  This  tale  is  a justifiable 
exception. 

Once  in  every  five  years,  as  you  know,  we  indent  for 
a new  Viceroy ; and  each  Viceroy  imports,  with  the 
rest  of  his  baggage,  a Private  Secretary,  who  may  or 
may  not  be  the  real  Viceroy,  just  as  Fate  ordains.  Fate 
looks  after  the  Indian  Empire  because  it  is  so  big  and 
so  helpless. 

There  was  a Viceroy  once,  who  brought  out  with  him 
a turbulent  Private  Secretary — a hard  man  with  a soft 
manner  and  a morbid  passion  for  work.  This  Secretary 
was  called  Wonder — ^John  Fennil  Wonder.  The  Viceroy 
possessed  no  name — nothing  but  a string  of  counties 
and  two-thirds  of  the  alphabet  after  them.  He  said,  in 
confidence,  that  he  was  the  electro-plated  figure-head  of 
a golden  administration,  and  he  watched  in  a dreamy, 
amused  way  Wonder's  attempts  to  draw  matters  which 
were  entirely  outside  his  province  into  his  own  hands. 
‘‘When  we  are  all  cherubims  together,"  said  His  Excel- 
lency once,  “my  dear,  good  friend  Wonder  will  head  the 


A GERM  DESTROYER, 


II3 

conspiracy  for  plucking  out  Gab  riel's  tail-feathers  or  steal- 
ing Peter's  keys.  Then  I shall  report  him." 

But,  though  the  Viceroy  did  nothing  to  check  Won- 
der's officiousness,  other  people  said  unpleasant  things. 
May  be  the  Members  of  Council  began  it ; but,  finally,  all 
Simla  agreed  that  there  was  ‘‘too  much  Wonder,  and 
too  little  Viceroy  " in  regime.  Wonder  was  always 
quoting  “His  Excellency."  It  was  “^His  Excellency 
this,"  “His  Excellency  that,"  “In  the  opinion  of  his  Ex- 
cellency," and  so  on.  The  Viceroy  smiled  ; but  he  did 
not  heed.  He  said  that,  so  long  as  his  old  men  squabbled 
with  his  “dear,  good  Wonder,'’  they  might  be  induced  to 
leave  the  “ Immemorial  East  " in  peace. 

“Nowise  man  has  a policy,"  said  the  Viceroy.  “A 
Policy  is  the  blackmail  levied  on  the  Fool  by  the  Un- 
foreseen. I am  not  the  former,  and  I do  not  believe  in 
the  latter." 

I do  not  quite  see  what  this  means,  unless  it  refers  to 
an  Insurance  Policy.  Perhaps  it  was  the  Viceroy's  way 
of  saying  : — “ Lie  low." 

That  season,  came  up  to  Simla  one  of  these  crazy  people 
with  only  a single  idea.  These  are  the  men  who  make 
things  move  ; but  they  are  not  nice  to  talk  to.  This 
man's  name  was  Mellish,  and  he  had  lived  for  fifteen 
years  on  land  of  his  own,  in  Lower  Bengal,  studying 
cholera.  He  held  that  cholera  was  a germ  that  propa- 
gated itself  as  it  flew  through  a muggy  atmosphere  ; and 
stuck  in  the  branches  of  trees  like  a woolflake.  The 
germ  could  be  rendered  sterile,  he  said,  by  “ Mellish's 
Own  Invincible  Fumigatory  " — a heavy  violet-black  pow- 
der— “ the  result  of  fifteen  years'  scientific  investigation. 
Sir  ! " 

Inventors  seem  very  much  alike  as  a caste.  They 
talk  loudly,  especially  about  “conspiracies  of  monopo- 

8 


A GERM  DESTROYER. 


1 14 

lists ; " they  beat  upon  the  table  with  their  fists  ; and 
they  secrete  fragments  of  their  inventions  about  their  per- 
sons. 

Hellish  said  that  there  was  a Medical  ‘‘Ring*'  at 
Simla,  headed  by  the  Surgeon-General,  who  was  in 
league,  apparently,  with  all  the  Hospital  Assistants  in 
the  Empire.  I forget  exactly  how  he  proved  it,  but  it 
had  something  to  do  with  “skulking  up  to  the  Hills"; 
and  what  Hellish  wanted  was  the  independent  evidence 
of  the  Viceroy — “Steward  of  our  Most  Gracious  Majesty 
the  Queen,  Sir."  So  Hellish  went  up  to  Simla,  with 
eighty-four  pounds  of  Fumigatory  in  his  trunk,  to  speak 
to  the  Viceroy  and  to  show  him  the  merits  of  the  inven- 
tion. 

But  it  is  easier  to  see  a Viceroy  than  to  talk  to  him, 
unless  you  chance  to  be  as  important  as  Mellishe  of 
Madras.  He  was  a six-thousand-rupee  man,  so  great 
that  his  daughters  never  “married."  They  “contracted 
alliances."  He  himself  was  not  paid.  He  “received 
emoluments,"  and  his  journeys  about  the  country  were 
“tours  of  observation."  His  business  was  to  stir  up  the 
people  in  Madras  with  a long  pole — as  you  stir  up  tench 
in  a pond — and  the  people  had  to  come  up  out  of  their 
comfortable  old  ways  and  gasp: — “This  is  Enlighten- 
ment and  Progress.  Isn't  it  fine  ! " Then  they  gave 
Mellishe  statutes  and  jasmine  garlands,  in  the  hope  of 
getting  rid  of  him. 

Mellishe  came  up  to  Simla  “to  confer  with  the  Vice- 
roy." That  was  one  of  his  perquisites.  The  Viceroy 
knew  nothing  of  Mellishe  except  that  he  was  “one  of 
those  middle-class  deities  who  seem  necessary  to  the 
spiritual  comfort  of  this  Paradise  of  the  Middle-classes," 
and  that,  in  all  probability,  he  had  “suggested,  designed, 
founded,  and  endowed  all  the  public  institutions  in 


A GERM  DESTROYER. 


II5 


Madras.”  Which  proves  that  His  Excellency,  though 
dreamy,  had  experience  of  the  ways  of  six-thousand- 
rupee  men. 

Mellishe's  name  was  E.  Mellishe,  and  Mellish’s  was 
E.  S.  Hellish,  and  they  were  both  staying  at  the  same 
hotel,  and  the  Fate  that  looks  after  the  Indian  Empire 
ordained  that  Wonder  should  blunder  and  drop  the  final 
‘'^;”that  the  Chaprassi  should  help  him,  and  that  the 
note  which  ran  : Dear  Mr,  Mellish. — Can  you  set  aside 
your  other  engagements , and  lunch  with  us  at  two  to-morrow  ? 
His  Excellency  has  an  hour  atyour  disposal  then”  should  be 
given  to  Mellish  with  the  Fumigatory.  He  nearly  wept 
with  pride  and  delight,  and  at  the  appointed  hour  can- 
tered to  Peterhoff,  a big  paper-bag  full  of  the  Fumigatory 
in  his  coat-tail  pockets.  He  had  his  chance,  and  he 
meant  to  make  the  most  of  it.  Mellishe  of  Madras  had 
been  so  portentously  solemn  about  his  ‘‘conference,” 
that  Wonder  had  arranged  for  a private  tiffin, — no  A.-D.- 
C.'s,  no  Wonder,  no  one  but  the  Viceroy  who  said  plaint- 
ively that  he  feared  being  left  alone  with  unmuzzled 
autocrats  like  the  great  Mellishe  of  Madras. 

But  his  guest  did  not  bore  the  Viceroy.  On  the  con- 
trary, he  amused  him.  Mellish  was  nervously  anxious 
to  go  straight  to  his  Fumigatory,  and  talked  at  random 
until  tiffin  was  over  and  His  Excellency  asked  him  to 
smoke.  The  Viceroy  was  pleased  with  Mellish  because 
he  did  not  “ talk  shop.” 

As  soon  as  the  cheroots  were  lit,  Mellish  spoke  like  a 
man  ; beginning  with  his  cholera-theory,  reviewing  his 
fifteen  years'  “scientific  labors,"  the  machinations  of  the 
“Simla  Ring,”  and  the  excellence  of  his  Fumigatory, 
while  the  Viceroy  watched  him  between  half-shut  eyes 
and  thought:  “Evidently,  this  is  the  wrong  tiger  ; but 
it  is  an  original  animal.”  Mellish's  hair  was  standing  on 


ii6 


A GERM  DESTROYER. 


end  with  excitement,  and  he  stammered.  He  began 
groping  in  his  coat-tails  and,  before  the  Viceroy  knew 
what  was  about  to  happen,  he  had  tipped  a bagful  of  his 
powder  into  the  big  silver  ash-tray. 

‘‘ J-j-judge  for  yourself,  Sir,'' said  Mellish.  ‘‘Y'  Ex- 
cellency shall  judge  for  yourself ! Absolutely  infallible, 
on  my  honor." 

He  plunged  the  lighted  end  of  his  cigar  into  the  powder, 
which  began  to  smoke  like  a volcano,  and  send  up  fat, 
greasy  wreaths  of  copper-colored  smoke.  In  five  seconds 
the  room  was  filled  with  a most  pungent  and  sickening 
stench — a reek  that  took  fierce  hold  of  the  trap  of  your 
windpipe  and  shut  it.  The  powder  then  hissed  and  fizzed, 
and  sent  out  blue  and  green  sparks,  and  the  smoke  rose 
ttll  you  could  neither  see,  nor  breathe,  nor  gasp.  Mel- 
lish, however,  was  used  to  it. 

‘'Nitrate  of  strontia,"  he  shouted  ; “ baryta,  bone-mea3 
etcetera!  Thousand  cubic  feet  smoke  per  cubic  inch. 
Not  a germ  could  live — not  a germ,  Y'  Excellency  ! ” 

But  His  Excellency  had  fled,  and  was  coughing  at 
the  foot  of  the  stairs,  while  all  Peterhoff  hummed  like 
a hive.  Red  Lancers  came  in,  and  the  Head  Chaprassi 
who  speaks  English,  came  in,  and  mace-bearers  came 
in,  and  ladies  ran  down-stairs  screaming,  “fire  " ; for  the 
smoke  was  drifting  through  the  house  and  oozing  out  of 
the  windows,  and  bellying  along  the  verandahs,  and 
wreathing  and  writhing  across  the  gardens.  No  one 
could  enter  the  room  where  Mellish  was  lecturing  on 
his  Fumigatory,  till  that  unspeakable  powder  had  burned 
itself  out. 

Then  an  Aide-de-Camp,  who  desired  the  V.  C.,  rushed 
through  the  rolling  clouds  and  hauled  Mellish  into  the 
hall.  The  Viceroy  was  prostrate  with  laughter,  and 


A GEI^M  DP.STKOVER. 


117 

could  only  waggle  his  hands  feebly  at  Hellish,  who  was 
shaking  a fresh  bagful  of  powder  at  him. 

‘‘  Glorious  ! Glorious  ! ''  sobbed  His  Excellency.  Not 
a germ,  as  you  justly  observe,  could  exist ! I can  swear 
it.  A magnificent  success  ! 

Then  he  laughed  till  the  tears  came,  and  Wonder, 
who  had  caught  the  real  Mellishe  snorting  on  the  Mall, 
entered  and  was  deeply  shocked  at  the  scene.  But  the 
Viceroy  was  delighted,  because  he  saw  that  Wonder 
would  presently  depart.  Hellish  with  the  Fumigatory 
was  also  pleased,  for  he  felt  that  he  had  smashed  the 
Simla  Medical  Ring.'* 

Few  men  could  tell  a story  like  His  Excellency  when 
he  took  the  trouble,  and  the  account  of  ‘'my  dear,  good 
Wonder's  friend  with  the  powder"  went  the  round  of 
Simla,  and  flippant  folk  made  Wonder  unhappy  by  their 
remarks. 

But  His  Excellency  told  the  tale  once  too  often — for 
Wonder.  As  he  meant  to  do.  It  was  at  a Seepee 
Picnic.  Wonder  was  sitting  just  behind  the  Viceroy. 

“And  I really  thought  for  a moment,"  wound  up  His 
Excellency,  “that  my  dear  good  Wonder  had  hired  an 
assassin  to  clear  his  way  to  the  throne  ! " 

Every  one  laughed  ; but  there  was  a delicate  subtinkle 
in  the  Viceroy's  tone  which  Wonder  understood.  He 
found  that  his  health  was  giving  away  ; and  the  Viceroy 
allowed  him  to  go,  and  presented  him  with  a flaming 
“ character"  for  use  at  Home  among  big  people. 

“ My  fault  entirely,  " said  His  Excellency,  in  after 
seasons,  with  a twinkling  in  his  eye.  “ My  inconsist- 
ency must  always  have  been  distasteful  to  such  a master- 
ly man." 


iCJDNAPPED- 


ti8 


KIDNAPPED. 

There  is  a tide  in  the  affairs  of  men, 

Which,  taken  any  way  you  please,  is  bad. 

And  strands  them  in  forsaken  guts  and  creeks 
No  decent  soul  would  think  of  visiting. 

You  cannot  stop  the  tide  ; but  now  and  then, 

You  may  arrest  some  rash  adventurer 

Who — h’m — will  hardly  thank  you  for  your  pains. 

Vibart's  Moralities, 

We  are  a high-caste  and  enlightened  race,  and  infant- 
marriage  is  very  shocking  and  the  consequences  are 
sometimes  peculiar  ; but,  nevertheless,  the  Hindu  notion 
— which  is  the  Continental  notion,  which  is  the  aboriginal 
notion — of  arranging  marriages  irrespective  of  the  personal 
inclinations  of  the  married,  is  sound.  Think  for  a minute, 
and  you  will  see  that  it  must  be  so ; unless,  of  course, 
you  believe  in  ‘‘affinities.'*  In  which  case  you  had 
better  not  read  this  tale.  How  can  a man  who  has  never 
married ; who  cannot  be  trusted  to  pick  up  at  sight  a 
moderately  sound  horse  ; whose  head  is  hot  and  upset 
with  visions  of  domestic  felicity,  go  about  the  choosing 
of  a wife  } He  cannot  see  straight  or  think  straight  if  he 
tries ; and  the  same  disadvantages  exist  in  the  case  of  a 
girl's  fancies.  But  when  mature,  married  and  discreet 
people  arrange  a match  between  a boy  and  a girl,  they  do 
it  sensibly,  with  a view  to  the  future,  and  the  young 
couple  live  happily  ever  afterwards.  As  everybody  knows. 

Properly  speaking,  Government  should  establish  a 
Matrimonial  Department,  efficiently  officered,  with  a 


KIDNAPPED. 


IK) 


Jury  of  Matrons,  a Judge  of  the  Chief  Court,  a Senior 
Chaplain,  and  an  Awful  Warning,  in  the  shape  of  a love- 
match  that  has  gone  wrong,  chained  to  the  trees  in  the 
court-yard.  All  marriages  should  be  made  through  the 
Department,  which  might  be  subordinate  to  the  Educa- 
tional Department,  under  the  same  penalty  as  that  attach- 
ing to  the  transfer  of  land  without  a stamped  document. 
But  Government  won't  take  suggestions.  It  pretends 
that  it  is  too  busy.  However,  I will  put  my  notion 
on  record,  and  explain  the  example  that  illustrates  the 
theory. 

Once  upon  a time  there  was  a good  young  man — a 
first-class  officer  in  his  own  Department — a man  with  a 
career  before  him  and,  possibly,  a K.  C.  I.  E.  at  the  end 
of  it.  All  his  superiors  spoke  well  of  him,  because  he 
knew  how  to  hold  his  tongue  and  his  pen  at  the  proper 
times.  There  are  to-day  only  eleven  men  in  India  who 
possess  this  secret;  and  they  have  all,  with  one  exception, 
attained  great  honor  and  enormous  incomes. 

This  good  young  man  was  quiet  and  self-eontained — 
too  old  for  his  years  by  far.  Which  always  carries  its 
own  punishment.  Had  a Subaltern,  or  a Tea-Planter's 
Assistant,  or  anybody  who  enjoys  life  and  has  no  care 
for  to-morrow,  done  what  he  tried  to  do  not  a soul  would 
have  cared.  But  when  Peythroppe — the  estimable, 
virtuous,  economical,  quiet,  hard-working,  young  Pey- 
throppe— fell,  there  was  a flutter  through  five  Depart- 
ments. 

The  manner  of  his  fall  was  in  this  way.  He  met  a 
Miss  Castries — d'Castries  it  was  originally,  but  the  family 
dropped  the  d'  for  administrative  reasons — and  he  fell  in 
love  with  her  even  more  energetically  than  he  w^orked. 
Understand  clearly  that  there  was  not  a breath  of  a word 
to  be  said  against  Miss  Castries — not  a shadow  of  a 


120 


JCIDNAFPEB. 


breath.  She  was  good  and  very  lovely — possessed  what 
innocent  people  at  home  call  a ‘‘Spanish''  complexion, 
with  thick  blue-black  hair  growing  low  down  on  the 
forehead,  into  a “widow's  peak,"  and  big  violet  eyes 
under  eyebrows  as  black  and  as  straight  as  the  borders 
of  a Gazette  Extraordinary^  when  a big  man  dies.  But 

but ^but .Well,  she  was  a sweet  girl  and 

very  pious,  but  for  many  reasons  she  was  “ impossible." 
Quite  so.  All  good  Mammas  know  what  “ impossible" 
means.  It  was  obviously  absurd  that  Peythroppe  should 
marry  her.  The  little  opal-tinted  onyx  at  the  base  of  her 
finger-nails  said  this  as  plainly  as  print.  Further,  mar- 
riage with  Miss  Castries  meant  marriage  with  several 
other  Castries — Honorary  Lieutenant  Castries  her  Papa, 
Mrs.  Eulalie  Castries  her  Mamma,  and  all  the  rami- 
fications of  the  Castries  family,  on  incomes  ranging  from 
Rs.  175  to  Rs.  470  a month,  and  their  wives  and  con- 
nections again. 

It  would  have  been  cheaper  for  Peythroppe  to  have 
assaulted  a Commissioner  with  a dog-whip,  or  to  have 
burned  the  records  of  a Deputy  Commissioner's  Office, 
than  to  have  contracted  an  alliance  with  the  Castries. 
It  would  h^ve  weighted  his  after-career  less — even  under 
a Government  which  never  forgets  and  never  forgives. 
Everybody  saw  this  but  Peythroppe.  He  was  going  to 
marry  Miss  Castries,  he  was — being  of  age  and  drawing 
a good  income — and  woe  betide  the  house  that  would 
not  afterwards  receive  Mrs.  Virginie  Saulez  Peythroppe 
with  the  deference  due  to  her  husband's  rank.  That  was 
Peythroppe's  ultimatum,  and  any  remonstrance  drove 
him  frantic. 

These  sudden  madnesses  most  afflict  the  sanest  men. 
There  was  a case  once — but  I will  tell  you  of  that  later 
on.  You  cannot  account  for  the  mania,  except  under  a 


KIDNAPPED. 


121 


theory  directly  contradicting  the  one  about  the  Place 
wherein  marriages  are  made.  Peythroppe  was  burningly 
anxious  to  put  a millstone  round  his  neck  at  the  outset 
of  his  career;  and  argument  had  not  the  hast  effect  on 
him.  He  was  going  to  marry  Miss  Castries,  and  the 
business  was  his  own  business.  He  would  thank  you 
to  keep  your  advice  to  yourself.  With  a man  in  this  con- 
dition, mere  words  only  fix  him  in  his  purpose.  Of  course 
he  cannot  see  that  marriage  out  here  does  not  concern 
the  individual  but  the  Government  he  serves. 

Do  you  remember  Mrs.  Hauksbee — the  most  wonder- 
ful woman  in  India } She  saved  Pluffles  from  Mrs.  Rei- 
ver, won  Tarrion  his  appointment  in  the  Foreign  Office, 
and  was  defeated  in  open  field  by  Mrs.  Cusack-Brem- 
mil.  She  heard  of  the  lamentable  condition  of  Pey- 
throppe, and  her  brain  struck  out  the  plan  that  saved 
him.  She  had  the  wisdom  of  the  Serpent,  the  logical 
coherence  of  the  Man,  the  fearlessness  of  the  Child,  and 
the  triple  intuition  of  the  Woman.  Never — no,  never — 
as  long  as  a tonga  buckets  down  the  Solon  dip,  or  the 
couples  go  a-riding  at  the  back  of  Summer  Hill,  will  there 
be  such  a genius  as  Mrs.  Hauksbee.  She  attended  the 
consultation  of  Three  Men  on  Peythroppe's  case  ; and  she 
stood  up  with  the  lash  of  her  riding  whip  between  her  lips 
and  spake. 


Three  weeks  later,  Peythroppe  dined  with  the  Three 
Men,  and  the  Gazette  of  India  came  in.  Peythroppe  found 
to  his  surprise  that  he  had  been  gazetted  a month's  leave. 
Don't  ask  me  how  this  was  managed.  I believe  firmly 
that,  if  Mrs.  Hauksbee  gave  the  order,  the  whole  Great 
Indian  Administration  would  stand  on  its  head.  The 
Three  Men  had  also  a month's  leave  each.  Peythroppe 
put  the  Gazette  down  and  said  bad  words.  Then  there 


122 


JCIDArAPPED, 


came  from  the  compound  the  soft  ‘'pad-pad'^  of  camels 
— ‘‘thieves'  camels/'  the  Bikaneer  breed  that  don't  bubble 
and  howl  when  they  sit  down  and  get  up. 

After  that,  I don't  know  what  happened.  This  much  is 
certain.  Peythroppe  disappeared — vanished  like  smoke 
— and  the  long  foot-rest  chair  in  the  house  of  the  Three 
Men  was  broken  to  splinters.  Also  a bedstead  departed 
from  one  of  the  bedrooms. 

Mrs.  Hauksbee  said  that  Mr.  Peythroppe  was  shooting 
in  Rajputana  with  the  Three  Men  ; so  we  were  compelled 
to  believe  her. 

At  the  end  of  the  month,  Peythroppe  was  gazetted 
twenty  days'  extension  of  leave ; but  there  was  wrath  and 
lamentation  in  the  house  of  Castries.  The  marriage-day 
had  been  fixed,  but  the  bridegroom  never  came  : and  the 
D’Silvas,  Pereiras,  and  Ducketts  lifted  their  voices  and 
mocked  Honorary  Lieutenant  Castries  as  one  who  had 
been  basely  imposed  upon.  Mrs.  Hauksbee  went  to  the 
wedding,  and  was  much  astonished  when  Peythroppe 
did  not  appear.  After  seven  weeks,  Peythroppe  and  the 
Three  Men  returned  from  Rajputana.  Peythroppe  was  in 
hard  tough  condition,  rather  white,  and  more  self-con- 
tained than  ever. 

One  of  the  Three  Men  had  a cut  on  his  nose,  caused 
by  the  kick  of  a gun.  Twelve-bores  kick  rather  cu- 
riously. 

Then  came  Honorary  Lieutenant  Castries,  seeking  for 
the  blood  of  his  perfidious  son-in-law  to  be.  He  said 
things — vulgar  and  “ impossible  " things,  which  showed 
the  raw  rough  “ranker"  below  the  “Honorary,"  and  I 
fancy  Peythroppe's  eyes  were  opened.  Anyhow,  he  held 
his  peace  till  the  end  ; when  lie  spoke  briefly.  Honorary 
Lieutenant  Castries  asked  for  a ‘‘peg"  before  he  went 
away  to  die  or  bring  a suit  for  breach  of  promise. 


/ 


JCIDATAPPED, 


Miss  Castries  was  a very  good  girl.  She  said  that  she 
would  have  no  breach  of  promise  suits.  She  said  that,  if 
she  was  not  a lady,  she  was  refined  enough  to  know  that 
ladies  kept  their  broken  hearts  to  themselves ; and,  as 
she  ruled  her  parents,  nothing  happened.  Later  on,  she 
married  a most  respectable  and  gentlemanly  person.  He 
travelled  for  an  enterprising  firm  in  Calcutta,  and  was  all 
that  a good  husband  should  be. 

So  Peythroppe  came  to  his  right  mind  again,  and  did 
much  good  work,  and  was  honored  by  all  who  knew  him. 
One  of  these  days  he  will  marry ; but  he  will  marry  a 
sweet  pink-and-white  maiden,  on  the  Government  House 
List,  with  a little  money  and  some  influential  connections, 
as  every  wise  man  should.  And  he  will  never,  all  his  life, 
tell  her  what  happened  during  the  seven  weeks  of  his 
shooting-tour  in  Rajputana. 

But  just  think  how  much  trouble  and  expense — for 
carnel-hire  is  not  cheap,  and  those  Bikaneer  brutes  had  to 
be  fed  like  humans — might  have  been  saved  by  a properly 
conducted  Matrimonial  Department,  under  the  control  of 
the  Director-General  of  Education,  but  corresponding 
direct  with  the  Viceroy. 


124  the  arrest  of  LIEUTENANT  GOLIGHTLY. 


THE  ARREST  OF  LIEUTENANT  GOLIGHTLY, 


“ ‘ I’ve  forgotten  the  countersign,  ’ sez  ’e. 

‘ Oh ! You  ’ave,  ’ave  you?  ’ sez  1. 

‘ But  I’m  the  Colonel,’  sez  ’e. 

‘ Oh ! You  are,  are  you  ? ’ sez  I.  ‘ Colonel  nor  no  Colonel,  you  waits 
’ere  till  I’m  relieved,  an’  the  Sarjint  reports  on  your  ugly  old  mug. 
Choop  / ’ sez  1. 


‘ An’  s’elp  me  soul,  ’twas  the  Colonel  after  all ! But  I was  a recruity  then. ' 

The  Unedited  Autobiography  of  Private  Ortheris, 


If  there  was  one  thing  on  which  Golightly  prided  him- 
self more  than  another,  it  was  looking  like  ‘‘an  Officer 
and  a Gentleman/'  He  said  it  was  for  the  honor  of  the 
Service  that  he  attired  himself  so  elaborately ; but  those 
who  knew  him  best  said  that  it  was  just  personal  vanity. 
There  was  no  harm  about  Golightly — not  an  ounce.  He 
recognized  a horse  when  he  saw  one,  and  could  do  more 
than  fill  a can  tie.  He  played  a very  fair  game  at  billiards, 
and  was  a sound  man  at  the  whist-table.  Everyone  liked 
him;  and  nobody  ever  dreamed  of  seeing  him  handcuffed 
on  a station  platform  as  a deserter.  But  this  sad  thing 
happened. 

He  was  going  down  from  Dalhousie,  at  the  end  of  his 
leave — riding  down.  He  had  cut  his  leave  as  fine  as  he 
dared,  and  wanted  to  come  down  in  a hurry. 

It  was  fairly  warm  at  Dalhousie,  and,  knowing  what 
to  expect  below,  he  descended  in  a new  khaki  suit — 
tight  fitting — of  a delicate  olive-green ; a peacock-blue 
tie,  white  collar,  and  a snowy  white  solah  helmet.  He 
prided  himself  on  looking  neat  even  when  he  was  riding 


THE  ARREST  OF  LIEUTENANT  GOLIGHTL  Y.  125 

post.  He  did  look  neat,  and  he  was  so  deeply  concerned 
about  his  appearance  before  he  started  that  he  quite  for- 
got to  take  anything  but  some  small  change  with  him. 
He  left  all  his  notes  at  the  hotel.  His  servants  had  gone 
down  the  road  before  him,  to  be  ready  in  waiting  at  Pa- 
thankote  with  a change  of  gear.  That  was  what  he  called 
travelling  in  light  marching-order.”  He  was  proud  of 
his  faculty  of  organization — what  we  call  hiindohust. 

Twenty-two  miles  out  of  Dalhousie  it  began  to  rain — 
not  a mere  hill-shower  but  a good,  tepid  monsoonish 
downpour.  Golightly  bustled  on,  wishing  that  he  had 
brought  an  umbrella.  The  dust  on  the  roads  turned  into 
mud,  and  the  pony  mired  a good  deal.  So  did  Golightly's 
khaki  gmiers.  But  he  kept  on  steadily  and  tried  to  think 
how  pleasant  the  coolth  was. 

His  next  pony  was  rather  a brute  at  starting,  and  Go- 
lightly’s  hands  being  slippery  with  the  rain,  contrived  to 
get  rid  of  Golightly  at  a corner.  He  chased  the  animal, 
caught  it,  and  went  ahead  briskly.  The  spill  had  not  im- 
proved his  clothes  or  his  temper,  and  he  had  lost  one 
spur.  He  kept  the  other  one  employed.  By  the  time 
that  stage  was  ended,  the  pony  had  had  as  much  ex- 
ercise as  he  wanted  and,  in  spite  of  the  rain,  Golightly 
was  sweating  freely.  At  the  end  of  another  miserable 
half-hour,  Golightly  found  the  world  disappear  before  his 
eyes  in  clammy  pulp.  The  rain  had  turned  the  pith  of 
his  huge  and  snowy  solah-topee  into  an  evil-smelling 
dough,  and  it  had  closed  on  his  head  like  a half-opened 
mushroom.  Also  the  green  lining  was  beginning  to 
run. 

Golightly  did  not  say  anything  worth  recording  here. 
He  tore  off  and  squeezed  up  as  much  of  the  brim  as  was 
in  his  eyes  and  ploughed  on.  The  back  of  the  helmet 
was  flapping  on  his  neck  and  the  sides  stuck  to  his  ears. 


1 2 6 the  arrest  of  lie utenant  golightl  y. 


but  the  leather  band  and  green  lining  kept  things  roughly 
together,  so  that  the  hat  did  not  actually  melt  away 
where  it  flapped. 

Presently,  the  pulp  and  the  green  stuff  made  a sort  of 
slimy  mildew  which  ran  over  Golightly  in  several  direc- 
tions— down  his  back  and  bosom  for  choice.  The  khaki 
color  ran  too — it  was  really  shockingly  bad  dye — and 
sections  of  Golightly  were  brown,  and  patches  were  violet, 
and  contours  were  ochre,  and  streaks  were  ruddy  red,  and 
blotches  were  nearly  white,  according  to  the  nature  and 
peculiarities  of  the  dye.  When  he  took  out  his  hand- 
kerchief to  wipe  his  face  and  the  green  of  the  hat-lining 
and  the  purple  stuff  that  had  soaked  through  on  to  his 
neck  from  the  tie  became  thoroughly  mixed,  the  effect 
was  amazing. 

Near  Dhar  the  rain  stopped  and  the  evening  sun 
came  out  and  dried  him  up  slightly.  It  fixed  the 
colors,  too.  Three  miles  from  Pathankote  the  last 
pony  fell  dead  lame,  and  Golightly  was  forced  to  walk. 
He  pushed  on  into  Pathankote  to  And  his  servants.  He 
did  not  know  then  that  his  khitmatgar  had  stopped 
by  the  roadside  to  get  drunk,  and  would  come  on  the 
next  day  saying  that  he  had  sprained  his  ankle.  When 
he  got  into  Pathankote,  he  couldn't  And  his  servants, 
his  boots  were  stiff  and  ropy  with  mud,  and  there  were 
large  quantities  of  dirt  about  his  body.  The  blue  tie 
had  run  as  much  as  the  khaki.  So  he  took  if  off  with 
the  collar  and  threw  it  away.  Then  he  said  something 
about  servants  generally  and  tried  to  get  a peg.  He 
paid  eight  annas  for  the  drink,  and  this  revealed  to  him 
that  he  had  only  six  annas  more  in  his  pocket — or  in 
the  world  as  he  stood  at  that  hour. 

He  went  to  the  Station-Master  to  negotiate  for  a 
first-class  ticket  to  Khasa,  where  he  was  stationed.  The 


THE  A E EE  ST  OF  LIEUTENANT  GO  LIGHTLY. 


127 


booking-clerk  said  something  to  the  Station-Master,  the 
Station-Master  said  something  to  the  Telegraph  Clerk, 
and  the  three  looked  at  him  with  curiosity.  They  asked 
him  to  wait  for  half-an-hour,  while  they  telegraphed  to 
Umritsar  for  authority.  So  he  waited  and  four  con- 
stables came  and  grouped  themselves  picturesquely  round 
him.  Just  as  he  was  preparing  to  ask  them  to  go  away, 
the  Station-Master  said  that  he  would  give  the  Sahib 
a ticket  to  Umritsar,  if  the  Sahib  would  kindly  come 
inside  the  booking-office.  Golightly  stepped  inside,  and 
the  next  thing  he  knew  was  that  a constable  was  attached 
to  each  of  his  legs  and  arms,  while  the  Station-Master 
was  trying  to  cram  a mail-bag  over  his  head. 

There  was  a very  fair  scuffle  all  round  the  booking- 
office,  and  Golightly  received  a nasty  cut  over  his  eye 
through  falling  against  a table.  But  the  constables 
were  too  much  for  him,  and  they  and  the  Station-Master 
handcuffed  him  securely.  As  soon  as  the  mail-bag  was 
slipped,  he  began  expressing  his  opinions,  and  the  head- 
constable  said: — Without  doubt  this  is  the  soldier- 
Englishman  we  required.  Listen  to  the  abuse  ! ''  Then 
Golightly  asked  the  Station-Master  what  the  this  and 
the  that  the  proceedings  meant.  The  Station-Master 
told  him  he  was  ‘‘Private  John  Binkle  of  the Regi- 

ment, 5 ft.  9 in.,  fair  hair,  gray  eyes,  and  a dissipated 
appearance,  no  marks  on  the  body,''  who  had  deserted 
a fortnight  ago.  Golightly  began  explaining  at  great 
length  : and  the  more  he  explained  the  less  the  Station- 
Master  believed  him.  He  said  that  no  Lieutenant 
could  look  such  a ruffian  as  did  Golightly,  and  that  his 
instructions  were  to  send  his  capture  under  proper  escort 
to  Umritsar.  Golightly  was  feeling  very  damp  and  un- 
comfortable, and  the  language  he  used  was  not  fit  for 
publication,  even  in  an  expurgated  form.  The  four 


128  the  arrest  of  lieutenant  golightl f. 

constables  saw  him  safe  to  Umritsar  in  an  inter- 
mediate ''  compartment,  and  he  spent  the  four-hour 
journey  in  abusing  them  as  fluently  as  his  knowledge  of 
the  vernaculars  allowed. 

At  Umritsar  he  was  bundled  out  on  the  platform  into 
the  arms  of  a Corporal  and  two  men  of  the Regi- 

ment. Golightly  drew  himself  up  and  tried  to  carry  off 
matters  jauntily.  He  did  not  feel  too  jaunty  in  hand- 
cuffs, with  four  constables  behind  him,  and  the  blood 
from  the  cut  on  his  forehead  stiffening  on  his  left  cheek. 
The  Corporal  was  not  jocular  either.  Golightly  got  as 
far  as  : — ''  This  is  a very  absurd  mistake,  my  men,'"  when 
the  Corporal  told  him  to  stow  his  lip  ''  and  come  along. 
Golightly  did  not  want  to  come  along.  He  desired  to 
stop  and  explain.  He  explained  very  well  indeed,  un- 
til the  Corporal  cut  in  with  : — You  a orficer!  It's  the 
like  o'  you  as  brings  disgrace  on  the  likes  of  us. 
Bloomin'  fine  orficer  you  are  ! I know  your  regiment. 
The  Rogue's  March  is  the  quickstep  where  you  come 
from.  You're  a black  shame  to  the  Service." 

Golightly  kept  his  temper,  and  began  explaining  all 
over  again  from  the  beginning.  Then  he  was  marched 
out  of  the  rain  into  the  refreshment-room  and  told  not 
to  make  a qualified  fool  of  himself.  The  men  were  go- 
ing to  run  him  up  to  Fort  Govindghar.  And  ‘'running 
up  " is  a performance  almost  as  undignified  as  the  Frog 
March. 

Golightly  was  nearly  hysterical  with  rage  and  the  chill 
and  the  mistake  and  the  handcuffs  and  the  headache  that 
the  cut  on  his  forehead  had  given  him.  He  really  laid 
himself  out  to  express  what  was  in  his  mind.  When  he 
had  quite  finished  and  his  throat  was  feeling  dry,  one  of 
the  men  said  : — “I've  'eard  a few  beggars  in  the  click 
blind,  stiff  and  crack  on  a bit ; but  I've  never  'eard  any- 


THE  ARREST  OF  LIEUTENANT  GOLIGHTLY.  129 

one  to  touch  this  ere  ‘orficer."’  They  were  not  angry 
with  him.  They  rather  admired  him.  They  had  some 
beer  at  the  refreshment-room,  and  offered  Golightly  some 
too,  because  he  had  ‘'swore  wonderful.''  They  asked 
him  to  tell  them  all  about  the  adventures  of  Private  John 
Binkle  while  he  was  loose  on  the  country-side  ; and  that 
made  Golightly  wilder  than  ever.  If  he  had  kept  his  wits 
about  him  he  would  have  kept  quiet  until  an  officer  came  ; 
but  he  attempted  to  run. 

Now  the  butt  of  a Martini  in  the  small  of  your  back 
hurts  a great  deal,  and  rotten,  rain-soaked  khaki  tears 
easily  when  two  men  are  yerking  at  your  collar. 

Golightly  rose  from  the  floor  feeling  very  sick  and 
giddy,  with  his  shirt  ripped  open  all  down  his  breast 
and  nearly  all  down  his  back.  He  yielded  to  his  luck, 
and  at  that  point  the  down-train  from  Lahore  came  in, 
carrying  one  of  Golightly’s  Majors. 

This  is  the  Major's  evidence  in  full : — 

“There  was  the  sound  of  a scuffle  in  the  second-class 
refreshment-room,  so  I went  in  and  saw  the  most  vil- 
lainous loafer  that  I ever  set  eyes  on.  His  boots  and 
breeches  were  plastered  with  mud  and  beer-stains.  He 
wore  a muddy-white  dunghill  sort  of  thing  on  his  head, 
and  it  hung  down  in  slips  on  his  shoulders  which  were 
a good  deal  scratched.  He  was  half  in  and  half  out  of  a 
shirt  as  nearly  in  two  pieces  as  it  could  be,  and  he  was 
begging  the  guard  to  look  at  the  name  on  the  tail  of  it. 
As  he  had  rucked  the  shirt  all  over  his  head,  I couldn't  at 
first  see  who  he  was,  but  I fancied  that  he  was  a man  in 
the  first  stage  of  D.  T.  from  the  way  he  swore  while  he 
wrestled  with  his  rags.  When  he  turned  round,  and  I had 
made  allowances  for  a lump  as  big  as  a pork-pie  over 
one  eye,  and  some  green  war-paint  on  the  face,  and  some 
violet  stripes  round  the  neck,  I saw  that  it  was  Golightly. 


130  THE  ARREST  OF  LIEUTENANT  GOLIGHTLY. 

He  was  very  glad  to  see  me,”  said  the  Major,  ''and 
hoped  I would  not  tell  the  Mess  about  it.  / didn't,  but 
you  can,  if  you  like,  now  that  Golightly  has  gone  Home.” 

Golightly  spent  the  greater  part  of  that  summer  in  try- 
ing to  get  the  Corporal  and  the  two  soldiers  tried  by 
Court-Martial  for  arresting  an  "officer  and  a gentleman.” 
They  were,  of  course,  very  sorry  for  their  error.  But  the 
tale  leaked  into  the  regimental  canteen,  and  thence  ran 
about  the  Proviiice. 


IN  THE  HOUSE  OF  SUDDHOO. 


13I 


IN  THE  HOUSE  OF  SUDDHOO. 

A stone’s  throw  out  on  either  hand 
From  that  well-ordered  road  we  tread, 

And  all  the  world  is  wild  and  strange  ; 

Churel  and  ghoul  and  Djinn  and  sprite 
Shall  bear  us  company  to-night, 

For  we  have  reached  the  Oldest  Land 
Wherein  the  Powers  of  Darkness  range. 

Fro7n  the  Dusk  to  the  Dawn, 

The  house  of  Suddhoo,  near  the  Taksali  Gate,  is  two- 
storied,  with  four  carved  windows  of  old  brown  wood, 
and  a flat  roof  You  may  recognize  it  by  five  red  hand- 
prints arranged  like  the  Five  of  Diamonds  on  the  white- 
wash between  the  upper  windows.  Bhagwan  Dass,  the 
bunnia,  and  a man  who  says  he  gets  his  living  by  seal- 
cutting live  in  the  lower  story  with  a troop  of  wives,  ser- 
vants, friends,  and  retainers.  The  two  upper  rooms  used 
to  be  occupied  by  Janoo  and  Azizun  and  a little  black 
and-tan  terrier  that  was  stolen  from  an  Englishman's  house 
and  given  to  Janoo  by  a soldier.  To-day,  only  Janoo 
lives  in  the  upper  rooms.  Suddhoo  sleeps  on  the  roof 
generally,  except  when  he  sleeps  in  the  street.  He  used 
to  go  to  Peshawar  in  the  cold  weather  to  visit  his  son, 
who  sells  curiosities  near  the  Edwardes'  Gate,  and  then 
he  slept  under  a real  mud  roof  Suddhoo  is  a great  friend 
of  mine,  because  his  cousin  had  a son  who  secured,  thanks 
to  my  recommendation,  the  post  of  head-messenger  to  a 
big  firm  in  the  Station.  Suddhoo  says  that  God  will  make 
me  a Lieutenant-Governor  one  of  these  days.  I daresay 
his  prophecy  will  come  true.  He  is  very,  very  old,  with 


132 


IN  THE  HOUSE  OF  SUDDHOO. 


white  hair  and  no  teeth  worth  showing,  and  he  has  out 
lived  his  wits — outlived  nearly  everything  except  his  fond- 
ness for  his  son  at  Peshawar.  Janoo  and  Azizun  are  Kash- 
miris, Ladies  of  the  City,  and  theirs  was  an  ancient  and 
more  or  less  honorable  profession  ; but  Azizun  has  since 
married  a medical  student  from  the  North-West  and  has 
settled  down  to  a most  respectable  life  somewhere  near 
Bareilly.  Bhagwan  Dass  is  an  extortionate  and  an  adul- 
terator. He  is  very  rich.  The  man  who  is  supposed  to 
get  his  living  by  seal-cutting  pretends  to  be  very  poor. 
This  lets  you  know  as  much  as  is  necessary  of  the  four 
principal  tenants  in  the  house  of  Suddhoo.  Then  there 
is  Me,  of  course ; but  I am  only  the  chorus  that  comes 
in  at  the  end  to  explain  things.  So  I do  not  count. 

Suddhoo  was  not  clever.  The  man  who  pretended  to 
cut  seals  was  the  cleverest  of  them  all — Bhagwan  Dass 
only  knew  how  to  lie — except  Janoo.  She  was  also  beau- 
tiful, but  that  was  her  own  affair. 

Suddhoo’s  son  at  Peshawar  was  attacked  by  pleurisy, 
and  old  Suddhoo  was  troubled.  The  seal-cutter  man 
heard  of  Suddhoo’s  anxiety  and  made  capital  out  of  it. 
He  was  abreast  of  the  times.  He  got  a friend  in  Pesha- 
war to  telegraph  daily  accounts  of  the  son  s health.  And 
here  the  story  begins. 

Suddhoo's  cousin's  son  told  me,  one  evening,  that 
Suddhoo  wanted  to  see  me  ; that  he  was  too  old  and 
feeble  to  come  personally,  and  that  I should  be  conferring 
an  everlasting  honor  on  the  House  of  Suddhoo  if  I went 
to  him.  I went ; but  I think,  seeing  how  well-off  Suddhoo 
was  then,  that  he  might  have  sent  something  better  than 
an  ekka,  which  jolted  fearfully,  to  haul  out  a future  Lieu- 
tenant-Governor to  the  City  on  a muggy  April  evening. 
The  ekka  did  not  run  quickly.  It  was  full  dark  when  we 
pulled  up  opposite  the  door  of  Ranjit  Singh’s  Tomb  near 


IN  THE  HOUSE  OF  SUDDHOO, 


133 


the  main  gate  of  the  Fort.  Here  was  Suddhoo  and  he 
said  that,  by  reason  of  my  condescension,  it  was  abso- 
lutely certain  that  I should  become  a Lieutenant-Governor 
while  my  hair  was  yet  black.  Then  we  talked  about  the 
weather  and  the  state  of  my  health,  and  the  wheat  crops, 
for  fifteen  minutes,  in  the  Huzuri  Bagh,  under  the  stars. 

Suddhoo  came  to  the  point  at  last.  He  said  that  Janoo 
had  told  him  that  there  was  an  order  of  the  Sirkar  against 
magic,  because  it  was  feared  that  magic  might  one  day 
kill  the  Empress  of  India.  I didn’t  know  anything  about 
the  state  of  the  law ; but  I fancied  that  something  interest- 
ing was  going  to  happen.  I said  that  so  far  from  magic 
being  discouraged  by  the  Government  it  was  highly  com- 
mended. The  greatest  officials  of  the  State  practised  it 
themselves.  (If  the  Financial  Statement  isn’t  magic,  I 
don’t  know  what  is.)  Then,  to  encourage  him  further,  I 
said  that,  if  there  was  any  jadoo  afoot,  I had  not  the  least 
objection  to  giving  it  my  countenance  and  sanction,  and 
to  seeing  that  it  was  clean  jadoo — white  magic,  as  dis- 
tinguished from  the  unclean  jadoo  which  kills  folk.  It 
took  a long  time  before  Suddhoo  admitted  that  this  was 
just  what  he  had  asked  me  to  come  for.  Then  he  told 
me,  in  jerks  and  quavers,  that  the  man  who  said  he  cut 
seals  was  a sorcerer  of  the  cleanest  kind  ; that  every  day 
he  gave  Suddhoo  news  of  the  sick  son  in  Peshawar  more 
quickly  than  the  lightning  could  fly,  and  that  this  news 
was  always  corroborated  by  the  letters.  Further,  that  he 
had  told  Suddhoo  how  a great  danger  was  threatening 
his  son,  which  could  be  removed  by  clean  jadoo  ; and,  of 
course,  heavy  payment.  I began  to  see  exactly  how  the 
land  lay,  and  told  Suddhoo  that  / also  understood  a little 
^adoo  in  the  Western  line,  and  would  go  to  his  house  to 
see  that  everything  was  done  decently  and  in  order.  We 
set  off  together ; and  on  the  way  Suddhoo  told  me  that 


134 


m THE  HOUSE  OF  SUDDHOO. 


he  had  paid  the  seal-cutter  between  one  hundred  and  two 
hundred  rupees  already  ; and  the  jadoo  of  that  night 
would  cost  two  hundred  more.  Which  was  cheap,  he 
said,  considering  the  greatness  of  his  son's  danger  ; but 
I do  not  think  he  meant  it. 

The  lights  were  all  cloaked  in  the  front  of  the  house 
when  we  arrived.  I could  hear  awful  noises  from  behind 
the  seal-cutter’s  shop-front,  as  if  some  one  were  groaning 
his  soul  out  Suddhoo  shook  all  over,  and  w’hile  we 
groped  our  way  upstairs  told  me  that  the  jadoo  had 
begun.  Janoo  and  Kzizun  met  us  at  the  stair-head, 
and  told  us  that  the  Jadoo-woxk  was  coming  off  in  their 
rooms,  because  there  was  more  space  there.  Janoo  is  a 
lady  ot  a ffeethinking  turn  of  mind.  She  whispered 
that  the  jadoo  was  an  invention  to  get  money  out  of 
Suddhoo,  and  that  the  seal-cutter  would  go  to  a hot  place 
when  he  died.  Suddhoo  was  nearly  crying  with  fear  and 
old  age.  He  kept  walking  up  and  down  the  room  in  the 
half  light,  repeating  his  son’s  name  over  and  over  again, 
and  asking  Azizun  if  the  seal-cutter  ought  not  to  make  a 
reduction  in  the  case  of  his  own  landlord.  Janoo  pulled 
me  over  to  the  shadow  in  the  recess  of  the  carved  bow- 
windows.  The  boards  were  up,  and  the  rooms  were 
only  lit  by  one  tiny  oil-lamp.  There  was  no  chance  of 
my  being  seen  if  I stayed  still. 

Presently,  the  groans  below  ceased,  and  we  heard  steps 
on  the  staircase.  That  was  the  seal-cutter.  He  stopped 
outside  the  door  as  the  terrier  barked  and  Azizun  fumbled 
at  the  chain,  and  he  told  Suddhoo  to  blow  out  the  lamp. 
This  left  the  place  in  jet  darkness,  except  for  the  red 
glow  from  the  two  huqas  that  belonged  to  Janoo  and 
Azizun.  The  seal-cutter  came  in,  and  I heard  Suddhoo 
throw  himself  down  on  the  floor  and  groan.  Azizun 
caught  her  breath,  and  Janoo  backed  on  to  one  of 


IN  THE  HOUSE  OF  SUDDHOO. 


135 


the  beds  with  a shudder.  There  was  a clmk  of  something 
metallic,  and  then  shot  up  a pale  blue-green  flame  near 
the  ground.  The  light  was  just  enough  to  show  Azizun, 
pressed  against  one  corner  of  the  room  with  the  terrier 
between  her  knees  ; Janoo,  with  her  hands  clasped,  lean- 
ing forward  as  she  sat  on  the  bed ; Suddhoo,  face  down, 
quivering,  and  the  seal-cutter. 

I hope  I may  never  see  another  man  like  that  seal- 
cutter.  He  was  stripped  to  the  waist,  with  a wreath  of 
white  jasmine  as  thick  as  my  wrist  round  his  forehead,  a 
salmon  colored  loin-cloth  round  his  middle,  and  a steel 
bangle  on  each  ankle.  This  was  not  awe-inspiring.  It 
was  the  face  of  the  man  that  turned  me  cold.  It  was 
blue-gray  in  the  first  place.  In  the  second,  the  eyes  were 
rolled  back  till  you  could  only  see  the  whites  of  them  ; 
and,  in  the  third,  the  face  was  the  face  of  a demon — a 
ghoul — anything  you  please  except  of  the  sleek,  oily  old 
ruffian  who  sat  in  the  day-time  over  his  turning-lathe 
downstairs.  He  was  lying  on  his  stomach  with  his  arms 
turned  and  crossed  behind  him,  as  if  he  had  been  thrown 
down  pinioned.  His  head  and  neck  were  the  only  parts 
of  him  off  the  floor.  They  were  nearly  at  right  angles  to 
the  body,  like  the  head  of  a cobra  at  spring.  It  was 
ghastly.  In  the  centre  of  the  room,  on  the  bare  earth  floor, 
stood  a big,  deep,  brass  basin,  with  a pale  blue-green  light 
floating  in  the  centre  like  a night-light.  Round  that 
basin  the  man  on  the  floor  wriggled  himself  three  times. 
How  he  did  it  I do  not  know.  I could  see  the  muscles 
ripple  along  his  spine  and  fall  smooth  again  ; but  I could 
not  see  any  other  motion.  The  head  seemed  the  only 
thing  alive  about  him,  except  that  slow  curl  and  uncurl 
of  the  laboring  back-muscles.  Janoo  from  the  bed  was 
breathing  seventy  to  the  minute  ; Azizun  held  her  hands 
before  her  eyes ; and  old  Suddhoo,  fingering  at  the  dirt 


136  THE  HOUSE  OE  SUDDHOO. 

that  had  got  into  his  white  beard,  was  crying  to  himself. 
The  horror  of  it  was  that  the  creeping,  crawly  thing  made 
no  sound — only  crawled  ! And,  remember,  this  lasted  for 
ten  minutes,  while  the  terrier  whined,  and  Azizun  shud- 
dered, and  Janoo  gasped  and  Suddhoo  cried. 

I felt  the  hair  lift  at  the  back  of  my  head,  and  my  heart 
thump  like  a thermantidote  paddle.  Luckily,  the  seal- 
cutter  betrayed  himself  by  his  most  impressive  trick  and 
made  me  calm  again.  After  he  had  finished  that  un- 
speakable triple  crawl,  he  stretched  his  head  away  from 
the  floor  as  high  as  he  could,  and  sent  out  a jet  of  fire  from 
his  nostrils.  Now  I knew  how  fire-spouting  is  done — I 
can  do  it  myself — so  I felt  at  ease.  The  business  was  a 
fraud.  If  he  had  only  kept  to  that  crawl  without  trying  to 
raise  the  effect,  goodness  knows  what  I might  not  have 
thought.  Both  the  girls  shrieked  at  the  jet  of  fire  and  the 
head  dropped,  chin-down  on  the  floor  with  a thud  ; the 
whole  body  lying  then  like  a corpse  with  its  arms  trussed. 
There  was  a pause  of  five  full  minutes  after  this,  and  the 
blue-green  flame  died  down.  Janoo  stooped  to  settle  one 
of  her  anklets,  while  Azizun  turned  her  face  to  the  wall 
and  took  the  terrier  in  her  arms.  Suddhoo  put  out  an 
arm  mechanically  to  Janoo^s  huqa,  and  she  slid  it  across 
the  floor  with  her  foot.  Directly  above  the  body  and  on 
the  wall,  were  a couple  of  flaming  portraits,  in  stamped 
paper  frames,  of  the  Queen  and  the  Prince  of  Wales.  They 
looked  down  on  the  performance,  and,  to  my  thinking, 
seemed  to  heighten  the  grotesqueness  of  it  all. 

Just  when  the  silence  was  getting  unendurable,  the 
body  turned  over  and  rolled  away  from  the  basin  to  the 
side  of  the  room,  where  it  lay  stomach-up.  There  was  a 
faint  ‘‘  plop'"  from  the  basin — exactly  like  the  noise  a fish 
makes  when  it  takes  a fly — and  the  green  light  in  the  cen- 
tre revived. 


IN  THE  HOUSE  OF  SUDDHOO. 


137 


I looked  at  the  basin,  and  saw,  bobbing  in  the  water 
the  dried,  shrivelled,  black  head  of  a native  baby — open 
eyes,  open  mouth  and  shaved  scalp.  It  was  worse,  being 
so  very  sudden,  than  the  crawling  exhibition.  We  had 
no  time  to  say  anything  before  it  began  to  speak. 

Read  Poe's  account  of  the  voice  that  came  from  the 
mesmerized  dying  man,  and  you  will  realize  less  than 
one-half  of  the  horror  of  that  head's  voice. 

There  was  an  interval  of  a second  or  two  between  each 
word,  and  a sort  of  ‘‘ring,  ring,  ring,"  in  the  note  of  the 
voice  like  the  timbre  of  a bell.  It  pealed  slowly,  as  if 
talking  to  itself,  for  several  minutes  before  I got  rid  of 
my  cold  sweat.  Then  the  blessed  solution  struck  me.  I 
looked  at  the  body  lying  near  the  doorway,  and  saw,  just 
where  the  hollow  of  the  throat  joins  on  the  shoulders,  a 
muscle  that  had  nothing  to  do  with  any  man’s  regular 
breathing,  twitching  away  steadily.  The  whole  thing 
was  a careful  reproduction  of  the  Egyptian  teraphin  that 
one  reads  about  sometimes  ; and  the  voice  was  as  clever 
and  as  appalling  a piece  of  ventriloquism  as  one  could 
wish  to  hear.  All  this  time  the  head  was  '‘lip-lip-lap- 
ping" against  the  side  of  the  basin,  and  speaking.  It 
told  Suddhoo,  on  his  face  again  whining,  of  his  son's  ill- 
ness and  of  the  state  of  the  illness  up  to  the  evening  of 
that  very  night.  I always  shall  respect  the  seal-cutter  for 
keeping  so  faithfully  to  the  time  of  the  Peshawar  tele- 
grams. It  went  on  to  say  that  skilled  doctors  were  night 
and  day  watching  over  the  man's  life  ; and  that  he  would 
eventually  recover  if  the  fee  to  the  potent  sorcerer,  whose 
servant  was  the  head  in  the  basin,  were  doubled. 

Here  the  mistake  from  the  artistic  point  of  view  came 
in.  To  ask  for  twice  your  stipulated  fee  in  a voice  that 
Lazarus  might  have  used  when  he  rose  from  the  dead,  is 
absurd.  Janoo,  who  is  really  a woman  of  masculine  intel- 


IN  THE  HOUSE  OF  SUDDHOO. 


138 

lect,  saw  this  as  quickly  as  I did.  I heard  her  say  Ash 
nahin  I Fareih  scornfully  under  her  breath;  and  just 
as  she  said  so,  the  light  in  the  basin  died  out,  the  head 
stopped  talking,  and  we  heard  the  room  door  creak  on  its 
hinges.  Then  Janoo  struck  a match,  lit  the  lamp,  and 
we  saw  that  head,  basin,  and  seal-cutter  were  gone. 
Suddhoo  was  wringing  his  hands  and  explaining  to  any 
one  who  cared  to  listen,  that,  if  his  chances  of  eternal 
salvation  depended  on  it,  he  could  not  raise  another  two 
hundred  rupees.  Azizun  was  nearly  in  hysterics  in  the 
corner ; while  Janoo  sat  down  composedly  on  one  of  the 
beds  to  discuss  the  probabilities  of  the  whole  thing  being 
^hunaOy  or  ‘‘make-up.'' 

I explained  as  much  as  I knew  of  the  seal-cutter's  way 
of  jadoo  ; but  her  argument  was  much  more  simple  : — 
“The  magic  that  is  always  demanding  gifts  is  no  true 
magic,'*  said  she.  “My  mother  told  me  that  the  only 
potent  love-spells  are  those  which  are  told  you  for  love. 
This  seal-cutter  man  is  a liar  and  a devil.  I dare  not 
tell,  do  anything,  or  get  anything  done,  because  I am  in 
debt  to  Bhagwan  Dass  the  bunnia  for  two  gold  rings 
and  a heavy  anklet.  I must  get  my  food  from  his  shop. 
The  seal-cutter  is  the  friend  of  Bhagwan  Dass,  and  he 
would  poison  my  food.  A fool's  jadoo  has  been  going 
on  for  ten  days,  and  has  cost  Suddhoo  many  rupees 
each  night.  The  seal-cutter  used  black  hens  and  lemons 
and  mantras  before.  He  never  showed  us  anything  like 
this  till  to-  night.  Azizun  is  a fool,  and  will  be  a pur 
dahnashin  soon.  Suddhoo  has  lost  his  strength  and  his 
wits.  See  now  ! I had  hoped  to  get  from  Suddhoo  many 
rupees  while  he  lived,  and  many  more  after  his  death ; 
and  behold,  he  is  spending  everything  on  that  offspring 
of  a devil  and  a she-ass,  the  seal -cutter  ! " 

Here  I said ; — “ But  what  induced  Suddhoo  to  drag  me 


IN  THE  HOUSE  OF  SUDDHOO. 


m 


into  the  business  ? Of  course  I can  speak  to  the  seal-cub 
ter,  and  he  shall  refund.  The  whole  thing  is  child's  talk 
• — shame — and  senseless. " 

‘‘Suddhoo  IS  an  old  child,”  said  Janoo.  ‘^He  has 
lived  on  the  roofs  these  seventy  years  and  is  as  senseless 
as  a milch-goat.  He  brought  you  here  to  assure  him- 
self that  he  was  not  breaking  any  law  of  the  Sirkar, 
whose  salt  he  ate  many  years  ago.  He  w^orships  the 
dust  off  the  feet  of  the  seal-cutter,  and  that  cow-devourer 
has  forbidden  him  to  go  and  see  his  son.  What  does 
Suddhoo  know  of  your  laws  or  the  lightning-post?  I 
have  to  watch  his  money  going  day  by  day  to  that  lying 
beast  below.  ” 

Janoo  stamped  her  foot  on  the  floor  and  nearly  cried 
with  vexation ; while  Suddhoo  was  whimpering  under 
a blanket  in  the  corner,  and  Azizun  was  trying  to  guide 
the  pipe-stem  to  his  foolish  old  mouth. 


Now  the  case  stands  thus.  Unthinkingly,  I have 
laid  myself  open  to  the  charge  of  aiding  and  abetting 
the  seal-cutter  in  obtaining  money  under  false  pretences, 
which  is  forbidden  by  Section  420  of  the  Indian  Penal 
Code.  I am  helpless  in  the  matter  for  these  reasons,  I 
cannot  inform  the  Police.  What  witnesses  would  sup- 
port my  statements  ? Janoo  refuses  flatly,  and  Azizun  is 
a veiled  woman  somewhere  near  Bareilly — lost  in  this 
big  India  of  ours.  I dare  not  again  take  the  law  into  my 
own  hands,  and  speak  to  the  seal-cutter ; for  certain  am 
I that,  not  only  would  Suddhoo  disbelieve  me,  but  this 
step  would  end  in  the  poisoning  of  Janoo,  who  is  bound 
hand  and  foot  by  her  debt  to  the  hunnia.  Suddhoo  is  an 
old  dotard ; and  whenever  we  meet  mumbles  my  idiotic 
joke  that  the  Sirkar  rather  patronizes  the  Black  Art  than 
otherwise.  His  son  is  well  now;  but  Suddhoo  is  com- 


140 


IN  THE  HOUSE  OF  SUDDHOO. 


pletely  under  the  influence  of  the  seal-cutter,  by  whose 
advice  he  regulates  the  affairs  of  his  life.  Janoo  watches 
daily  the  money  that  she  hoped  to  wheedle  out  of  Sud- 
dhoo  taken  by  the  seal-cutter,  and  becomes  daily  more 
furious  and  sullen. 

She  will  never  tell,  because  she  dare  not ; but,  unless 
something  happens  to  prevent  her,  I am  afraid  that  the 
seal-cutter  will  die  of  cholera — the  white  arsenic  kind — 
about  the  middle  of  May.  And  thus  I shall  have  to  be 
privy  to  a murder  in  the  House  of  Suddhoo. 


HIS  WEDDED  WIFE- 


HI 


HIS  WEDDED  WIFE. 

Cry«‘  Murder  ! ’Mn  the  market-place,  and  each 

Wni  turn  upon  his  neighbor  anxiou-s  eyes 

That  ask  : — “ Art  thou  the  man  ? We  hunted  Cain, 

Some  centuries  ago,  across  the  world, 

That  bred  the  fear  our  own  misdeeds  maintain 
To-day. 

Vibart's  Moralities. 

Shakespeare  says  something  about  worms,  or  it  may 
be  giants  or  beetles,  turning  if  you  tread  on  them  too 
severely,  The  safest  plan  is  never  to  tread  on  a worm — 
not  even  on  the  last  new  subaltern  from  Home,  with  his 
buttons  hardly  out  of  their  tissue  paper,  and  the  red  of 
sappy  English  beef  in  his  cheeks.  This  is  the  story  of 
the  worm  that  turned.  For  the  sake  of  brevity,  we  will 
call  Henry  Augustus  Ramsay  Faizanne,  “The  Worm, 
although  he  really  was  an  exceedingly  pretty  boy,  without 
a hair  on  his  face,  and  with  a waist  like  a girl’s,  when  he 
came  out  to  the  Second  “ Shikarris  ” and  was  made  un- 
happy  in  several  ways.  The  “Shikarris”  are  a ^ high- 
caste  regiment,  and  you  must  be  able  to  do  things  well — 
play  a banjo,  or  ride  more  than  little,  or  sing,  or  act — to 
get  on  with  them. 

The  Worm  did  nothing  except  fall  off  his  pony,  and 
knock  chips  out  of  gate-posts  with  his  trap.  Even  that 
became  monotonous  after  a time.  He  objected  to 
whist,  cut  the  cloth  at  billiards,  sang  out  of  tune,  kept 
very  much  to  himself,  and  wrote  to  his  Mamma  and  sis- 
ters at  Home.  Four  of  these  five  things  were  vices  which 


142 


HIS  WEDDED  WIFE. 


the  Shikarris”  objected  to  and  set  themselves  to  eradi 
cate.  Everyone  knows  how  subalterns  are,  by  brother 
subalterns,  softened  and  not  permitted  to  be  ferocious.  It 
is  good  and  wholesome,  and  does  no  one  any  harm,  un- 
less tempers  are  lost ; and  then  there  is  trouble.  There 
was  a man  once — but  that  is  another  story. 

The  ‘‘  Shikarris  shikarred  The  Worm  very  much,  and 
he  bore  everything  without  winking.  He  was  so  good 
and  so  anxious  to  learn,  and  flushed  so  pink,  that  his 
education  was  cut  short,  and  he  was  left  to  his  own  de- 
vices by  everyone  except  the  Senior  Subaltern  who  con- 
tinued to  make  life  a burden  to  The  Worm.  The  Senior 
Subaltern  meant  no  harm  ; but  his  chaff  was  coarse,  and 
he  didn’t  quite  understand  where  to  stop.  He  had  been 
waiting  too  long  for  his  Company  ; and  that  always  sours 
a man.  Also  he  was  in  love,  which  made  him  worse. 

One  day,  after  he  had  borrov/ed  The  Worm’s  trap  for 
a lady  who  never  existed,  had  used  it  himself  all  the  after- 
noon, had  sent  a note  to  The  Worm,  purporting  to  come 
from  the  lady,  and  was  telling  the  Mess  all  about  it.  The 
Worm  rose  in  his  place  and  said,  in  his  quiet,  lady-like 
voice  : — That  was  a very  pretty  sell ; but  I’ll  lay  you  a 
month’s  pay  to  a month’s  pay  when  you  get  your  step, 
that  I work  a sell  on  you  that  you’ll  remember  for  the  rest 
of  your  days,  and  the  Regiment  after  you  when  you’re 
dead  or  broke,”  The  Worm  wasn’t  angry  in  the  least,  and 
the  rest  of  the  Mess  shouted.  Then  the  Senior  Subaltern 
looked  at  The  Worm  from  the  boots  upwards,  and  down 
again  and  said:  Done,  Baby.”  The  Worm  took  the  rest 
of  the  Mess  to  witness  that  the  bet  had  been  taken,  and 
retired  into  a book  with  a sweet  smile. 

Two  months  passed,  and  the  Senior  Subaltern  still 
educated  The  Worm,  who  began  to  move  about  a little 
more  as  the  hot  weather  came  on.  I have  said  that  the 


HIS  WEDDED  WIFE. 


U3 


Senior  Subaltern  was  in  love.  The  curious  thing  is  that 
a girl  was  in  love  with  the  Senior  Subaltern.  Though  the 
Colonel  said  awful  things,  and  the  Majors  snorted,  and 
married  Captains  looked  unutterable  wisdom,  and  the 
juniors  scoffed,  those  two  were  engaged. 

The  Senior  Subaltern  was  so  pleased  with  getting  his 
Company  and  his  acceptance  at  the  same  time  that  he 
forgot  to  bother  The  Worm.  The  girl  was  a pretty  girl, 
and  had  money  of  her  own.  She  does  not  come  into  this 
story  at  all. 

One  night,  at  beginning  of  the  hot  weather,  all  the 
Mess,  except  The  Worm  who  had  gone  to  his  own  room 
to  write  Home  letters,  were  sitting  on  the  platform  out- 
side the  Mess  House.  The  Band  had  finished  playing, 
but  no  one  wanted  to  go  in.  And  the  Captains'  wives 
were  there  also.  The  folly  of  a man  in  love  is  unlimited. 
The  Senior  Subaltern  had  been  holding  forth  on  the  merits 
of  the  girl  he  was  engaged  to,  and  the  ladies  were  purring 
approval,  while  the  men  yawned,  when  there  was  a rustle 
of  skirts  in  the  dark,  and  a tired,  faint  voice  lifted  itself. 

“ Where's  my  husband  ? " 

I do  not  wish  in  the  least  to  reflect  on  the  morality  of 
the  ‘‘  Shikarris  ; " but  it  is  on  record  that  four  men  jumped 
up  as  if  they  had  been  shot.  Three  of  them  were  married 
men.  Perhaps  they  were  afraid  that  their  wives  had  come 
from  Home  unbeknownst.  The  fourth  said  that  he  had 
acted  on  the  impulse  of  the  moment.  He  explained  this 
afterwards. 

Then  the  voice  cried  : — ‘‘  Oh  Lionel  ! " Lionel  was  the 
Senior  Subaltern's  name.  A woman  came  into  the  little 
circle  of  light  by  the  candles  on  the  peg-tables,  stretching 
out  her  hands  to  the  dark  where  the  Senior  Subaltern  was, 
and  sobbing.  We  rose  to  our  feet,  feeling  that  things 
were  going  to  happen  and  ready  to  believe  the  worst.  In 


144 


HIS  WEDDED  WIFE, 


this  bad,  small  world  of  ours,  one  knows  so  little  of  the 
life  of  the  next  man — which,  after  all,  is  entirely  his  own 
concern — that  one  is  not  surprised  when  a crash  comes. 
Anything  might  turn  up  any  day  for  anyone.  Perhaps 
the  Senior  Subaltern  had  been  trapped  in  his  youth.  Men 
are  crippled  that  way  occasionally.  We  didn't  know  ; we 
wanted  to  hear ; and  the  Captains’  wives  were  as  anxious 
as  we.  If  he  had  been  trapped,  he  was  to  be  excused  ; 
for  the  woman  from  nowhere,  in  the  dusty  shoes  and  gray 
travelling  dress,  was  very  lovely,  with  black  hair  and 
great  eyes  full  of  tears.  She  v/as  tall,  with  a fine  figure, 
and  her  voice  had  a running  sob  in  it  pitiful  to  hear.  As 
soon  as  the  Senior  Subaltern  stood  up,  she  threw  her  arms 
round  his  neck,  and  called  him  my  darling  ” and  said 
she  could  not  bear  waiting  alone  in  England,  and  his 
letters  were  so  short  and  cold,  and  she  was  his  to  the 
end  of  the  world,  and  would  he  forgive  her  } This  did  not 
sound  quite  like  a lady’s  way  of  speaking.  It  was  too 
demonstrative. 

Things  seemed  black  indeed,  and  the  Captains’  wives 
peered  under  their  eyebrows  at  the  Senior  Subaltern,  and 
the  Colonel’sface  set  like  the  Day  of  Judgment  framed  in 
gray  bristles,  and  no  one  spoke  for  a while. 

Next  the  Colonel  said,  very  shortly  : — Well,  Sir  } ” 
and  the  woman  sobbed  afresh.  The  Senior  Subaltern  was 
half  choked  with  the  arms  round  his  neck,  but  he  gasped 
out  : — It’s  a d — d lie  ! I never  had  a wife  in  my  life  ! ” 
''  DonT  swear,”  said  the  Colonel.  ''  Come  into  the  Mess. 
We  must  sift  this  clear  somehow,”  and  he  sighed  to 
hinself,  for  he  believed  in  his  ‘‘  Shikarris,”  did  the  Col- 
onel. 

We  trooped  into  the  ante-room,  under  the  full  lights, 
and  there  we  saw  how  beautiful  the  woman  was.  She 
stood  up  in  the  middle  of  us  all,  sometimes  choking  with 


ms  WEDDED  WIEE. 


145 

crying,  then  hard  and  proud,  and  then  holding  out  her 
arms  to  the  Senior  Subaltern.  It  was  like  the  fourth  act 
of  a tragedy.  She  told  us  how  the  Senior  Subaltern  had 
married  her  when  he  was  Home  on  leave  eighteen  months 
before  ; and  she  seemed  to  know  all  that  we  knew,  and 
more  too,  of  his  people  and  his  past  life.  He  was  white 
and  ashy  gray,  trying  now  and  again  to  break  into  the 
torrent  of  her  words  ; and  we,  noting  how  lovely  she  was 
and  what  a criminal  he  looked,  esteemed  him.  a beast  ot 
the  worst  kind.  We  felt  sorry  for  him,  though. 

I shall  never  forget  the  indictment  of  the  Senior 
Subaltern  by  his  wife.  Nor  will  he.  It  was  so  sudden, 
rushing  out  of  the  dark,  unannounced,  into  our  dull 
lives.  The  Captains'  wives  stood  back ; but  their  eyes 
were  alight,  and  you  could  see  that  they  had  already 
convicted  and  sentenced  the  Senior  Subaltern.  The 
Colonel  seemed  five  years  older.  One  Major  was  shad- 
ing his  eyes  with  his  hand  and  watching  the  woman 
from  underneath  it.  Another  was  chewing  his  moustache 
and  smiling  quietly  as  if  he  were  witnessing  a play. 
Full  in  the  open  space  in  the  centre,  by  the  whist-tables, 
the  Senior  Subaltern's  terrier  was  hunting  for  fleas.  I 
remember  all  this  as  clearly  as  though  a photograph 
were  in  my  hand.  I remember  the  look  of  horror  on 
the  Senior  Subaltern’s  face.  It  was  rather  like  seeing  a 
man  hanged  ; but  much  more  interesting.  Finally,  the 
woman  wound  up  by  saying  that  the  Senior  Subaltern 
carried  a double  F.  M.  in  tattoo  on  his  left  shoulder. 
We  all  knew  that,  and  to  our  innocent  minds  it  seemed 
to  clinch  the  matter.  But  one  of  the  Bachelor  Majors 
said  very  politely  : — 'H  presume  that  your  marriage- 
certificate  would  be  more  to  the  purpose  ? " 

That  roused  the  woman.  She  stood  up  and  sneered 
at  the  Senior  Subaltern  for  a cur,  and  abused  the  Major 

10 


146 


HIS  WEDDED  WIFE. 


and  the  Colonel  and  all  the  rest.  Then  she  wept,  and 
then  she  pulled  a paper  from  her  breast,  saying  impe- 
rially : — ''Take  that!  And  let  my  husband — my  law- 
fully wedded  husband — read  it  aloud — if  he  dare  1 '' 

There  was  a hush,  and  the  men  looked  into  each  other’s 
eyes  as  the  Senior  Subaltern  came  forward  in  a dazed 
and  dizzy  way,  and  took  the  paper.  We  were  wonder- 
ing, as  we  stared,  whether  there  was  anything  against 
any  one  of  us  that  might  turn  up  later  on.  The  Senior 
Subaltern’s  throat  was  dry  ; but,  as  he  ran  his  eye  over 
the  paper,  he  broke  out  into  a hoarse  cackle  of  relief, 
and  said  to  the  woman  : — '^You  young  blackguard!” 

But  the  woman  had  fled  through  a door,  and  on  the 
paper  was  written  : — " This  is  to  certify  that  I,  The 
Worm,  have  paid  in  full  my  debts  to  the  Senior  Sub- 
altern, and,  further,  that  the  Senior  Subaltern  is  my 
debtor,  by  agreement  on  the  23rd  of  February,  as  by 
the  Mess  attested,  to  the  extent  of  one  month’s  Captain’s 
pay,  in  the  lawful  currency  of  the  India  Empire.” 

Then  a deputation  set  off  for  The  Worm’s  quarters 
and  found  him,  betwixt  and  between,  unlacing  his  stays, 
with  the  hat,  wig,  serge  dress,  &c.,  on  the  bed.  He 
came  over  as  he  was,  and  the  "Shikarris”  shouted  till 
the  Gunners’  Mess  sent  over  to  know  if  they  might  have 
a share  of  the  fun.  I think  we  were  all,  except  the 
Colonel  and  the  Senior  Subaltern,  a little  disappointed 
that  the  scandal  had  come  to  nothing.  But  that  is 
human  nature.  There  could  be  no  two  words  about 
The  Worm’s  acting.  It  leaned  as  near  to  a nasty 
tragedy  as  anything  this  side  of  a joke  can.  When 
most  of  the  Subalterns  sat  upon  him  with  sofa-cushions 
to  find  out  why  he  had  not  said  that  acting  was  his 
strong  point,  he  answered  very  quietly  : — "I  don’t  think 
you  ever  asked  me.  I used  to  act  at  Home  with  my 


ms  WEDDED  WIFE, 


147 


sisters.”  But  no  acting  with  girls  could  account  for 
The  Worm's  display  that  night.  Personally,  I think  it 
was  in  bad  taste.  Besides  being  dangerous.  There  is 
no  sort  of  use  in  playing  with  fire,  even  for  fun. 

The  ''  Shikarris  ” made  him  President  of  the  Regi- 
mental Dramatic  Club  ; and,  when  the  Senior  Subaltern 
paid  up  his  debt,  which  he  did  at  once.  The  Worm  sank 
the  money  in  scenery  and  dresses.  He  was  a good 
Worm  ; and  the  ''  Shikarris  ” are  proud  of  him.  The 
only  drawback  is  that  he  has  been  christened  Mrs. 
Senior  Subaltern  ; ” and,  as  there  are  now  two  Mrs.  Senior 
Subalterns  in  the  Station,  this  is  sometimes  confusing  to 
strangers. 

Later  on,  I will  tell  you  of  a case  something  like  this, 
but  with  all  the  jest  left  out  and  nothing  in  it  but  real 
trouble. 


148 


THE  BROKEN-LINK  HANDICAP. 


THE  BROKEN-LINK  HANDICAP. 

While  the  snaffle  holds,  or  the  “long-neck  stings, 

While  the  big  beam  tilts,  or  the  last  bell  rings, 

While  horses  are  horses  to  train  and  to  race, 

Then  women  and  wine  take  a second  place 
For  me — for  me — 

While  a short  “ ten-three  ” 

Has  a field  to  squander  or  fence  to  face  ! 

Song  of  the  G.  R. 

There  are  more  ways  of  running  a horse  to  suit  your 
book  than  pulling  his  head  off  in  the  straight.  Some  men 
forget  this.  Understand  clearly  that  all  racing  is  rotten — 
as  everything  connected  with  losing  money  must  be. 
Out  here,  in  addition  to  its  inherent  rottenness,  it  has  the 
merit  of  being  two-thirds  sham  ; looking  pretty  on  paper 
only.  Everyone  knows  everyone  else  far  too  well  for 
business  purposes.  How  on  earth  can  you  rack  and  harry 
and  post  a man  for  his  losings,  when  you  are  fond  of  his 
wife,  and  live  in  the  same  Station  with  him  } He  says, 
''on  the  Monday  following,''  "I  can't  settle  just  yet." 
You’say,  ‘'All  right,  old  man,"  and  think  yourself  lucky  if 
you  pull  off  nine  hundred  out  of  a two-thousand-rupee 
debt.  Any  way  you  look  at  it,  Indian  racing  is  immoral, 
and  expensively  immoral.  Which  is  much  worse.  If  a 
man  wants  your  money,  he  ought  to  ask  for  it,  or  send 
round  a subscription-list,  instead  of  juggling  about  the 
country,  with  an  Australian  larrikin  ; a "brumby,"  with 
as  much  breed  as  the  boy  ; a brace  of  chumars  in  gold- 
laced  caps ; three  or  four  ekka-^ouies  with  hogged 
manes,  and  a switch-tailed  demirep  of  a mare  called  Arab 


THE  BROKEN-LINK  RADIO AP. 


149 

because  she  has  a kink  in  her  flag.  Racing  leads  to  the 
shroff  quicker  than  anything  else.  But  if  you  have  no 
conscience  and  no  sentiments,  and  good  hands,  and 
some  knowledge  of  pace,  and  ten  years'  experience  of 
horses,  and  several  thousand  rupees  a month,  I believe 
that  you  can  occasionally  contrive  to  pay  your  shoeing- 
bills. 

Did  you  ever  know  Shackles — b.  w.  g.,  15.  13-8 — 
coarse,  loose,  mule-like  ears — barrel  as  long  as  a gate- 
post— tough  as  a telegraph-wire — and  the  queerest  brute 
that  ever  looked  through  a bridle.?  He  was  of  no  brand, 
being  one  of  an  ear-nicked  mob  taken  into  the  Bu- 
cephalus at  £4-105.  a head  to  make  up  freight,  and  sold 
raw  and  out  of  condition  at  Calcutta  for  Rs.  275.  People 
who  lost  money  on  him  called  him  a ''  brumby;  " but  if 
ever  any  horse  had  Harpoon’s  shoulders  and  The  Gin’s 
temper.  Shackles  was  that  horse.  Two  miles  was  his 
own  particular  distance.  He  trained  himself,  ran  him- 
self, and  rode  himself;  and,  if  his  jockey  insulted  him  by 
giving  him  hints,  he  shut  up  at  once  and  bucked  the  boy  off. 
He  objected  to  dictation.  Two  or  three  of  his  owners  did 
not  understand  this,  and  lost  money  in  consequence.  At 
last  he  was  bought  by  a man  who  discovered  that,  if  a 
race  was  to  be  won.  Shackles,  and  Shackles  only,  would 
win  it  in  his  own  way,  so  long  as  his  jockey  sat 
still.  This  man  had  a riding-boy  called  Brunt — a lad 
from  Perth,  West  Australia — and  he  taught  Brunt,  with  a 
trainer’s  whip,  the  hardest  thing  a jock  can  learn — to  sit 
still,  to  sit  still,  and  to  keep  on  sitting  still.  When  Brunt 
fairly  grasped  this  truth,  Shackles  devastated  the  country. 
No  weight  could  stop  him  at  his  own  distance;  and  the 
fame  of  Shackles  spread  from  Ajmir  in  the  South,  to 
Chedputter  in  the  North.  There  was  no  horse  like 
Shackles,  so  long  as  he  was  allowed  to  do  his  work  in 


150 


THE  BROKEN-LINK  HANDICAP. 


his  own  way.  But  he  was  beaten  in  the  end;  and  the 
story  of  his  fall  is  enough  to  make  angels  weep. 

At  the  lower  end  of  the  Chedputter  race-course,  just 
before  the  turn  into  the  straight,  the  track  passes  close  to 
a couple  of  old  brick-mounds  enclosing  a funnel-shaped 
hollow.  The  big  end  of  the  funnel  is  not  six  feet  from 
the  railings  on  the  off-side.  The  astounding  peculiarity 
of  the  course  is  that,  if  you  stand  at  one  particular  place, 
about  half  a mile  away,  inside  the  course,  and  speak  at 
ordinary  pitch,  your  voice  just  hits  the  funnel  of  the  brick- 
mounds  and  makes  a curious  whining  echo  there.  A 
man  discovered  this  one  morning  by  accident  while  out 
training  with  a friend.  He  marked  the  place  to  stand 
and  speak  from  with  a couple  of  bricks,  and  he  kept  his 
knowledge  to  himself.  Every  peculiarity  of  a course  is 
worth  remembering  in  a country  where  rats  play  the  mis- 
chief with  the  elephant-litter,  and  Stewards  build  jumps 
to  suit  their  own  stables.  This  man  ran  a very  fairish 
country-bred,  a long,  racking  high  mare  with  the  temper 
of  a fiend,  and  the  paces  of  an  airy  wandering  seraph — a 
drifty,  glidy  stretch.  The  mare  was,  as  a delicate  tribute 
to  Mrs.  Reiver,  called  “The  Lady  Regula  Baddun'' — or 
for  short,  Regula  Baddun. 

Shackles'  jockey.  Brunt,  was  a quiet  well-behaved  boy, 
but  his  nerve  had  been  shaken.  He  began  his  career  by 
riding  jump-races  in  Melbourne,  where  a few  Stewards 
want  lynching,  and  was  one  of  the  jockeys  who  came 
through  the  awful  butchery — perhaps  you  will  recollect  it 
— of  the  Maribyrnong  Plate.  The  walls  were  colonial 
ramparts — logs  of  jarrali  spiked  into  masonry — with 
wings  as  strong  as  Church  buttresses.  Once  in  his  stride, 
a horse  had  to  jump  or  fall.  He  couldn't  run  out.  In  the 
Maribyrnong  Plate,  twelve  horses  were  jammed  at  the 
second  wall.  Red  Hat,  leading,  fell  this  side,  and  threw 


THE  BROKEN-LINK  HANDICAP,  \ 5 1 

out  The  Glen,  and  the  ruck  came  up  behind  and  the  space 
between  wing  and  wing  was  one  struggling,  screaming, 
kicking  shambles.  Four  jockeys  were  taken  out  dead  ; 
three  were  very  badly  hurt,  and  Brunt  was  among  the 
three.  He  told  the  story  of  the  Maribyrnong  Plate  some- 
times ; and  when  he  described  how  Whalley  on  Red  Hat, 
said,  as  the  mare  fell  under  him  : — ''  God  ha'  mercy,  Fm 
done  for  I " and  how,  next  instant,  Sithee  There  and 
White  Otter  had  crushed  the  life  out  of  poor  Whalley,  and 
the  dust  hid  a small  hell  of  men  and  horses,  no  one  mar- 
velled that  Brunt  had  dropped  jump-races  and  Australia 
together.  Regula  Baddun's  owner  knew  that  story  by 
heart.  Brunt  never  varied  it  in  the  telling.  He  had  no 
education. 

Shackles  came  to  the  Chedputter  Autumn  races  one 
year,  and  his  owner  walked  about  insulting  the  sports- 
men of  Chedputter  generally,  till  they  went  to  the  Honor- 
ary Secretary  in  a body  and  said  : — ^‘Appoint  handicap- 
pers,  and  arrange  a race  \vhich  shall  break  Shackles  and 
humble  the  pride  of  his  owner."  The  Districts  rose 
against  Shackles  and  sent  up  of  their  best ; Ousel  who 
was  supposed  to  be  able  to  do  his  mile  in  1-53  ; Petard, 
the  stud-bred,  trained  by  a cavalry  regiment  who  knew 
how  to  train  ; Gringalet,  the  ewe-lamb  of  the  75th  ; Bob- 
olink, the  pride  of  Peshawar  ; and  many  others. 

They  called  that  race  The  Broken-Link  Handicap,  be- 
cause it  was  to  smash  Shackles  ; and  the  handicappers 
piled  on  the  weights,  and  the  Fund  gave  eight  hundred 
rupees,  and  the  distance  was  round  the  course  for  all 
horses."  Shackles'  owner  said  : — You  can  arrange  the 
race  with  regard  to  Shackles  only.  So  long  as  you  don't 
bury  him  under  weight-cloths,  I don't  mind."  Regula 
Baddun's  owner  said  : — ‘‘I  throw  in  my  mare  to  fret 
Ousel.  Six  furlongs  is  Regula's  distance,  and  she  will 


1 5 2 THE  BROKEN-LINK  HANDICAP. 

then  lie  down  and  die.  So  also  will  Ousel,  for  his  jockey 
doesn’t  understand  a waiting  race*”  Now,  this  was  a lie, 
for  Regula  had  been  in  work  for  two  months  at  Dehra, 
and  her  chances  were  good,  always  supposing  that 
Shackles  broke  a blood-vessel — or  Brunt  moved  on  him. 

The  plunging  in  the  lotteries  was  fine.  They  filled 
eight  thousand-rupee  lotteries  on  the  Broken-link  Han- 
dicap, and  the  account  in  the  Pio7ieer  said  that  ‘ ^ favor- 
itism was  divided.”  In  plain  English,  the  various  con- 
tingents were  wild  on  their  respective  horses  ; for  the 
Handicappers  had  done  their  work  well.  The  Honor- 
ary Secretary  shouted  himself  hoarse  through  the  din  ; 
and  the  smoke  of  the  cheroots  was  like  the  smoke,  and 
the  rattling  of  the  dice-boxes  like  the  rattle  of  small- 
arm  fire. 

Ten  horses  started — very  level — and  Regula  Baddun's 
owner  cantered  out  on  his  hack  to  a place  inside  the 
circle  of  the  course,  where  two  bricks  had  been  thrown. 
He  faced  towards  the  brick-mounds  at  the  lower  end  of 
the  course  and  waited. 

The  story  of  the  running  is  in  the  Pioneer.  At  the 
end  of  the  first  mile.  Shackles  crept  out  of  the  ruck, 
well  on  the  outside,  ready  to  get  round  the  turn,  lay 
hold  of  the  bit  and  spin  up  the  straight  before  the 
others  knew  he  had  got  away.  Brunt  was  sitting  still, 
perfectly  happy,  listening  to  the  drum^  drum^  drum^^ 
of  the  hoofs  behind,  and  knowing  that,  in  about  twenty 
strides.  Shackles  would  draw  one  deep  breath  and  go 
up  the  last  half-mile  like  the  ‘^Flying  Dutchman.”  As 
Shackles  went  short  to  take  the  turn  and  came  abreast 
of  the  brick-mound.  Brunt  heard,  above  the  noise  of  the 
wind  in  his  ears,  a whining,  wailing  voice  on  the  offside, 
saying  : — ‘‘God  ha^  mercy,  Em  done  for  ! ” In  one  stride. 
Brunt  saw  the  whole  seething  smash  of  the  Maribyr- 


THE  BROKEN-LINK  HANDICAP. 


153 


nong  Plate  before  him,  started  in  his  saddle  and  gave  a 
yell  of  terror.  The  start  brought  the  heels  into  Shackles' 
side,  and  the  scream  hurt  Shackles'  feelings.  He 
couldn't  stop  dead ; but  he  put  out  his  feet  and  slid  alone 
for  fifty  yards,  and  then,  very  gravely  and  judicially, 
bucked  off  Brunt — a shaking,  terror-stricken  lump, 
while  Regula  Baddun  made  a neck-and-neck  race 
with  Bobolink  up  the  straight,  and  won  by  a short 
head — Petard  a bad  third.  Shackles'  owner,  in  the 
Stand,  tried  to  think  that  his  field-glasses  had  gone 
wrong.  Regula  Baddun's  owner,  waiting  by  the  two 
bricks,  gave  one  deep  sigh  of  relief,  and  cantered  back 
to  the  Stand.  He  had  won,  in  lotteries  and  bets,  about 
fifteen  thousand. 

It  was  a Broken-link  Handicap  with  a vengeance. 
It  broke  nearly  all  the  men  concerned,  and  nearly  broke 
the  heart  of  Shackles'  owner.  He  went  down  to  in- 
terview Brunt.  The  boy  lay,  livid  and  gasping  with 
fright,  where  he  had  tumbled  off.  The  sin  of  losing  the 
race  never  seemed  to  strike  him.  All  he  knew  was 
that  Whalley  had  ‘^called"  him,  that  the  ‘"call"  was  a 
warning  ; and,  were  he  cut  in  two  for  it,  he  would  never 
get  up  again.  His  nerve  had  gone  altogether,  and  he 
only  asked  his  master  to  give  him  a good  thrashing,  and 
let  him  go.  He  was  fit  for  nothing,  he  said.  He  got 
his  dismissal,  and  crept  up  to  the  paddock,  white  as 
chalk,  with  blue  lips,  his  knees  giving  way  under  him. 
People  said  nasty  things  in  the  paddock ; but  Brunt 
never  heeded.  He  changed  into  tweeds,  took  his  stick 
and  went  down  the  road,  still  shaking  with  fright,  and 
muttering  over  and  over  again  : — ‘‘God  ha'  mercy.  I'm 
done  for  ! " To  the  best  of  my  knowledge  and  belief  he 
spoke  the  truth. 

So  now  you  know  how  the  Broken-link  Handicap  was 


154 


THE  BROKEH-LINH  HANDICAP. 


run  and  won.  Of  course  you  don't  believe  it.  You 
would  credit  anything  about  Russia's  designs  on  India, 
or  the  recommendations  of  the  Currency  Commission  ; 
but  a little  bit  of  sober  fact  is  more  than  you  can  stand  ! 


BEYOND  THE  PALE. 


155 


BEYOND  THE  PALE. 

* Love  heeds  not  caste  nor  sleep  a broken  bed.  I went  in  search  of  love 
and  lost  myself.” 

Hindu  Proverb, 

A MAN  should,  whatever  happens,  keep  to  his  own 
caste,  race  and  breed.  Let  the  White  go  to  the  White  and 
the  Black  to  the  Black.  Then,  whatever  trouble  falls  is  in 
the  ordinary  course  of  things — neither  sudden,  alien  nor 
unexpected. 

This  is  the  story  of  a man  who  wilfully  stepped  beyond 
the  safe  limits  of  decent  every-day  society,  and  paid  for  it 
heavily. 

He  knew  too  much  in  the  first  instance  ; and  he  saw  too 
much  in  the  second.  He  took  too  deep  an  interest  it 
native  life  ; but  he  will  never  do  so  again. 

Deep  away  in  the  heart  of  the  City,  behind  Jitha  Megji's 
husiee^  lies  Amir  Nath's  Gully,  which  ends  in  a dead-wall 
pierced  by  one  grated  window.  At  the  head  of  the  Gully 
is  a big  cowbyre,  and  the  walls  on  either  side  of  the  Gully 
are  without  windows.  Neither  Suchet  Singh  nor  Gaur 
Chand  approve  of  their  women-folk  looking  into  the  world. 
If  Durga  Charan  had  been  of  their  opinion,  he  would  have 
been  a happier  man  to-day,  and  little  Bisesa  would  have 
been  able  to  knead  her  own  bread.  Her  room  looked  out 
through  the  grated  window  into  the  narrow  dark  Gully 
where  the  sun  never  came  and  where  the  buffaloes  wal- 
lowed in  the  blue  slime.  She  was  a widow,  about  fifteen 


BEYOND  THE  PALE. 


156 

y ears  old,  and  she  prayed  the  Gods,  day  and  night,  to  send 
her  a lover ; for  she  did  not  approve  of  living  alone. 

One  day,  the  man — Trejago  his  name  was — came  into 
Amir  Nath’s  Gully  on  an  aimless  wandering;  and,  after  he 
had  passed  the  buffaloes,  stumbled  over  a big  heap  of 
cattle-food. 

Then  he  saw  that  the  Gully  ended  in  a trap,  and  heard 
a little  laugh  from  behind  the  grated  window.  It  was  a 
pretty  little  laugh,  and  Trejago,  knowing  that,  for  all 
practical  purposes,  the  old  Arabian  Nights  are  good  guides 
went  forward  to  the  window,  and  whispered  that  verse  of 

The  Love  Song  of  Har  Dyal”  which  begins  : — 

Can  a man  stand  upright  in  the  face  of  the  naked  Sun  ; or  a Lover  in 
the  Presence  of  his  Beloved  ? 

If  my  feet  fail  me,  O Heart  of  my  Heart,  am  I to  blame,  being  blinded 
by  the  glimpse  of  your  beauty  ? 

There  came  the  faint  tchmks  of  a woman  bracelets  from 
behind  the  grating,  and  a little  voice  went  on  with  the 
song  at  the  fifth  verse  : — • 

Alas  ! alas ! Can  the  Moon  tell  the  Lotus  of  her  love  when  the  Gate  of 
Heaven  is  shut  and  the  clouds  gather  for  the  rains  ? 

They  have  taken  my  Beloved,  and  driven  her  with  the  pack-horses  to 
the  North. 

There  are  iron  chains  on  the  feet  that  were  set  on  my  heart. 

Call  to  the  bowmen  to  make  ready 

The  voice  stopped  suddenly,  and  Trejago  walked  out  of 
Amir  Nath  s Gully,  wondering  who  in  the  world  could  have 
capped  ‘'The  Love  Song  of  Har  Dyal”  so  neatly. 

Next  morning,  as  he  was  driving  to  office,  an  old 
woman  threw  a packet  into  his  dog-cart.  In  the  packet 
was  the  half  of  a broken  glass-bangle,  one  flower  of 
the  blood-red  dhak,  a pinch  of  hhusa  or  cattle-food,  and 
eleven  cardamoms.  That  packet  was  a letter — not  a 
clumsy  compromising  letter,  but  an  innocent  unintelli- 
gible lover  s epistle. 


BEYOND  THE  PALE. 


157 


Trejago  knew  far  too  much  about  these  things,  as  I 
have  said.  No  Englishman  should  be  able  to  translate 
object-letters.  But  Trejago  spread  all  the  trifles  on  the 
lid  of  his  office-box  and  began  to  puzzle  them  out. 

A broken  glass-bangle  stands  for  a Hindu  widow  all 
India  over  ; because,  when  her  husband  dies,  a woman's 
bracelets  are  broken  on  her  wrists.  Trejago  saw  the 
meaning  of  the  little  bit  of  the  glass.  The  flower  of  the 
dhak  means  diversely  ‘"desire,"  “come,"  “write,"  or 
“ danger,"  according  to  the  other  things  with  it.  One 
cardamon  means  “jealousy;"  but  when  any  article  is 
duplicated  in  an  object-letter,  it  loses  its  symbolic  mean- 
ing and  stands  merely  for  one  of  a number  indicating 
time,  or,  if  incense,  curds,  or  saffron  be  sent  also,  place. 
The  message  ran  then: — “A  widow — dhak  flower  and 
bhusa — at  eleven  o'clock."  The  pinch  of  enlight- 

ened Trejago.  He  saw — this  kind  of  letter  leaves  much 
to  instinctive  knowledge — that  the  bhusa  referred  to  the 
big  heap  of  cattle-food  over  which  he  had  fallen  in  Amir 
Nath's  Gully,  and  that  the  message  must  come  from  the 
person  behind  the  grating  ; she  being  a widow.  So  the 
message  ran  then  : — “ A widow,  in  the  Gully  in  which 
is  the  heap  of  bhusa,  desires  you  to  come  at  eleven 
o'clock." 

Trejago  threw  all  the  rubbish  into  the  fire-place  and 
laughed.  He  knew  that  men  in  the  East  do  not  make 
love  under  windows  at  eleven  in  the  forenoon,  nor  do 
women  fix  appointments  a week  in  advance.  So  he 
went,  that  very  night  at  eleven,  into  Amir  Nath's  Gully, 
clad  in  a boorka,  which  cloaks  a man  as  well  as  a woman. 
Directly  the  gongs  in  the  City  made  the  hour,  the  little 
voice  behind  the  grating  took  up  “ The  Love  Song  of  Har 
Dyal " at  the  verse  where  the  Pan  than  girl  calls  upon  Har 
Dyal  to  return.  The  song  is  really  pretty  in  the  Ver- 


BEYOND  THE  PALE, 


158 

nacular.  In  English  you  miss  the  wail  of  it.  It  runs 
something  like  this  : — 

Alone  upon  the  housetops,  to  the  North 

I turn  and  watch  the  lightning  in  the  sky, — 

The  glamovu:  of  thy  footsteps  in  the  North, 

Come  back  to  me^  Beloved^  or  I die  / 

Below  my  feet  the  still  bazar  is  laid 
Far,  far  below  the  weary  camels  lie, — 

The  camels  and  the  captives  of  thy  raid. 

Come  back  to  me^  Beloved^  or  I die  ! 

My  father’s  wife  is  old  and  harsh  with  years. 

And  drudge  of  all  my  father’s  house  am  I. — 

My  bread  is  sorrow  and  my  drink  is  tears, 

Cojne  back  to  me^  Beloved^  or  I die  / 

As  the  song  stopped,  Trejago  stepped  up  under  the 
grating  and  whispered  : — ‘‘  I am  here."' 

Bisesa  was  good  to  look  upon. 

That  night  was  the  beginning  of  many  strange  things, 
and  of  a double  life  so  wild  that  Trejago  to-day  some- 
times wonders  if  it  were  not  all  a dream.  Bisesa  or  her 
old  handmaiden  who  had  thrown  the  object-letter  had 
detached  the  heavy  grating  from  the  brick-work  of 
the  wall ; so  that  the  window  slid  inside,  leaving  only  a 
square  of  raw  masonry  into  which  an  active  man  might 
climb. 

In  the  day-time,  Trejago  drove  through  his  routine  of 
office-work,  or  put  on  his  calling-clothes  and  called  on 
the  ladies  of  the  Station ; wondering  how  long  they  would 
know  him  if  they  knew  of  poor  little  Bisesa.  At  night, 
when  all  the  City  was  still,  came  the  walk  under  the  evil- 
smelling boorka,  the  patrol  through  Jitha  Megji’s  hustee, 
the  quick  turn  into  Amir  Nath's  Gully  between  the  sleep- 
ing cattle  and  the  dead  walls,  and  then,  last  of  all,  Bisesa, 
and  the  deep,  even  breathing  of  the  old  woman  who  slept 


BEYOND  THE  PALE. 


159 


outside  the  door  of  the  bare  little  room  that  Durga  Charan 
allotted  to  his  sister's  daughter.  Who  or  what  Durga 
Charan  was,  Trejago  never  inquired  ; and  why  in  the 
world  he  was  not  discovered  and  knifed  never  occurred  to 
him  till  his  madness  was  over,  and  Bisesa.  . , o . But 
this  comes  later. 

Bisesa  was  an  endless  delight  to  Trejago.  She  was  as 
ignorant  as  a bird  ; and  her  distorted  versions  of  the  ru- 
mors from  the  outside  world  that  had  reached  her  in  her 
room,  amused  Trejago  almost  as  much  as  her  lisping  at- 
tempts to  pronounce  his  name — “Christopher."  The  first 
syllable  was  always  more  than  she  could  manage,  and 
she  made  funny  little  gestures  with  her  roseleaf  hands,  as 
one  throwing  the  name  away,  and  then,  kneeling  before 
Trejago  asked  him,  exactly  as  an  English  woman  would 
do,  if  he  were  sure  he.  loved  her.  Trejago  swore  that  he 
loved  her  more  than  any  one  else  in  the  world.  Which 
was  true. 

After  a month  of  this  folly,  the  exigencies  of  his  other 
life  compelled  Trejago  to  be  especially  attentive  to  a lady 
of  his  acquaintance.  You  may  take  it  for  a fact  that  any- 
thing of  this  kind  is  not  only  noticed  and  discussed  by  a 
man's  own  race  but  by  some  hundred  and  fifty  natives  as 
well.  Trejago  had  to  walk  with  this  lady  and  talk  to  her 
at  the  Band-stand,  and  once  or  twice  to  drive  with  her  ; 
never  for  an  instant  dreaming  that  this  would  affect  his 
dearer  out-of-the-way  life.  But  the  news  flew,  in  the 
usual  mysterious  fashion,  from  mouth  to  mouth,  till 
Bisesa's  duenna  heard  of  it  and  told  Bisesa.  The  child 
was  so  troubled  that  she  did  the  household  work  evilly, 
and  was  beaten  by  Durga  Charan's  wife  in  consequence. 

A week  later,  Bisesa  taxed  Trejago  with  the  flirtation. 
She  understood  no  gradations  and  spoke  oponly.  Trejago 
laughed  and  Bisesa  stamped  her  little  feet — little  feet, 


i6o 


BEYOND  THE  PALE, 


light  as  marigold  flowers,  that  could  lie  in  the  palm  of  a 
man's  one  hand. 

Much  that  is  written  about  ‘'Oriental  passion  and  im- 
pulsiveness " is  exaggerated  and  compiled  at  second-hand, 
but  a little  of  it  is  true  ; and  when  an  Englishman  finds 
that  little,  it  is  quite  as  startling  as  any  passion  in  his  own 
proper  life.  Bisesa,  raged  and  stormed,  and  finally  threat- 
ened to  kill  herself  if  Trejago  did  not  at  once  drop  the 
alien  Memsahi'b  who  had  come  between  them.  Trejago 
tried  to  explain,  and  to  show  her  that  she  did  not  under- 
stand these  things  from  a Western  standpoint.  Bisesa 
drew  herself  up,  and  said  simply  ; 

“I  do  not.  I know  only  this — it  is  not  good  that  I 
should  have  made  you  dearer  than  my  own  heart  to  me,’ 
Sahib.  You  are  an  Englishman.  I am  only  a black 
girl — " she  was  fairer  than  bar-gold  in  the  Mint, — “ and 
the  widow  of  a black  man." 

Then  she  sobbed  and  said  : “But  on  my  soul  and 
my  Mothers  soul,  I love  you.  There  shall  no  harm 
come  to  you,  whatever  happens  to  me. 

Trejago  argued  with  the  child,  and  tried  to  soothe 
her,  but  she  seemed  quite  unreasonably  disturbed.  Noth- 
ing would  satisfy  her  save  that  all  relations  between 
them  should  end.  He  was  to  go  away  at  once.  And 
he  went.  As  he  dropped  out  at  the  window,  she  kissed 
his  forehead  twice,  and  he  walked  home  wondering. 

A week,  and  then  three  weeks,  passed  without  a sign 
from  Bisesa.  Trejago,  thinking  that  the  rupture  had 
lasted  quite  long  enough,  went  down  to  Amir  Naths 
Gully  for  the  fifth  time  in  the  three  weeks,  hoping  that 
his  rap  at  the  sill  of  the  shifting  grating  would  be 
answered.  He  was  not  disappointed. 

There  was  a young  moon,  and  one  stream  of  light  fell 
down  into  Amir  Nath's  Gully,  and  struck  the  grating 


BEYOND  THE  PALE, 


l6l 


which  was  drawn  away  as  he  knocked.  From  the  black 
dark,  Bisesa  held  out  her  arms  into  the  moonlight. 
Both  hands  had  been  cut  off  at  the  wrists,  and  the 
stumps  were  nearly  healed. 

Then,  as  Bisesa  bowed  her  head  between  her  arms  and 
sobbed,  some  one  in  the  room  grunted  like  a wild  beast, 
and  something  sharp, — knife,  sword  or  spear, — thrust  at 
Trejago  in  his  boorka.  The  stroke  missed  his  body,  but 
cut  into  one  of  the  muscles  of  the  groin,  and  he  limped 
slightly  from  the  wound  for  the  rest  of  his  days. 

The  grating  went  into  its  place.  There  was  no  sign 
whatever  from  inside  the  house, — nothing  but  the 
moonlight  strip  on  the  high  wall,  and  the  blackness  of 
Amir  Nath  s Gully  behind. 

The  next  thing  Trejago  remembers,  after  raging  and 
shouting  like  a madman  between  those  pitiless  walls, 
is  that  he  found  himself  near  the  river  as  the  dawn 
was  breaking,  threw  away  his  boorka  and  went  home 
bareheaded. 


What  the  tragedy  was — whether  Bisesa  had,  in  a fit 
of  causeless  despair,  told  everything,  or  the  intrigue  had 
been  discovered  and  she  tortured  to  tell ; whether 
Durga  Charan  knew  his  name  and  what  became  of 
Bisesa — Trejago  does  not  know  to  this  day.  Some- 
thing horrible  had  happened,  and  the  thought  of  what 
it  must  have  been,  comes  upon  Trejago  in  the  night 
now  and  again,  and  keeps  him  company  till  the  morn- 
ing. One  special  feature  of  the  case  is  that  he  does 
not  know  where  lies  the  front  of  Durga  Charan 's  house. 
It  may  open  on  to  a courtyard  common  to  two  or  more 
houses,  or  it  may  lie  behind  any  one  of  the  gates  of 
Jitha  Megjfs  bustee,  Trejago  cannot  tell.  He  cannot 
get  Bisesa — poor  little  Bisesa — back  again,  He  has  lost 

U 


i62 


BEYOND  THE  TALE. 


her  in  the  City  where  each  man's  house  is  as  guarded 
and  as  unknowable  as  the  grave  ; and  the  grating  that 
opens  into  Amir  Nath's  Gully  has  been  walled  up. 

But  Trejago  pays  his  calls  regularly,  and  is  reckoned 
a very  decent  sort  of  man. 

There  is  nothing  peculiar  about  him,  except  a slight 
stiffness,  caused  by  a riding-strain,  in  the  right  leg. 


IN  ERROR. 


163 


IN  ERROR. 

They  burnt  a corpse  upon  the  sand— 

The  light  shone  out  afar ; 

It  guided  home  the  plunging  boats 
That  beat  from  Zanzibar. 

Spirit  of  Fire,  where  e’er  Thy  altars  rise. 

Thou  art  Light  of  Guidance  to  our  eyes  ! 

Salsette  Boat-Song, 

There  is  hope  for  a man  who  gets  publicly  and  riot- 
ously drunk  more  often  than  he  ought  to  do ; but  there 
is  no  hope  for  the  man  who  drinks  secretly  and  alone 
in  his  own  house — the  man  who  is  never  seen  to  drink. 

This  is  a rule  ; so  there  must  be  an  exception  to  prove 
it.  Moriarty's  case  was  that  exception. 

He  was  a Civil  Engineer,  and  the  Government,  very 
kindly,  put  him  quite  by  himself  in  an  out-district,  with 
nobody  but  natives  to  talk  to  and  a great  deal  of  work 
to  do.  He  did  his  work  well  in  the  four  years  he  was 
utterly  alone  ; but  he  picked  up  the  vice  of  secret  and 
solitary  drinking,  and  came  up  out  of  the  wilderness 
more  old  and  worn  and  haggard  than  -the  dead-alive 
life  had  any  right  to  make  him.  You  know  the  saying 
that  a man  who  has  been  alone  in  the  jungle  for  more 
than  a year  is  never  quite  sane  all  his  life  after.  People 
credited  Moriarty's  queerness  of  manner  and  moody 
ways  to  the  solitude,  and  said  that  it  showed  how  Gov- 
ernment spoilt  the  futures  of  its  best  men.  Moriarty  had 
built  himself  the  plinth  of  a very  good  reputation  in  the 
bridge-dam-girder  line.  But  he  knew,  every  night  of  the 


IN  ERROR. 


iH 

the  week,  that  he  was  taking  steps  to  undermine  that 
reputation  with  L.  L.  L.  and  ‘‘Christopher’"  and  little 
nips  of  liqueurs,  and  filth  of  that  kind.  He  had  a sound 
constitution  and  a great  brain,  or  else  he  would  have 
broken  down  and  died  like  a sick  camel  in  the  district, 
as  better  men  have  done  before  him. 

Government  ordered  him  to  Simla  after  he  had  come 
out  of  the  desert ; and  he  went  up  meaning  to  try  for 
a post  then  vacant.  That  season,  Mrs.  Reiver — perhaps 
you  will  remember  her — was  in  the  height  of  her  power, 
and  many  men  lay  under  her  yoke.  Everything  bad 
that  could  be  said  has  already  been  said  about  Mrs. 
Reiver,  in  another  tale,  Moriarty  was  heavily-built  and 
handsome,  very  quiet  and  nervously  anxious  to  please 
his  neighbors  when  he  wasn’t  sunk  in  a brown  study. 
He  started  a good  deal  at  sudden  noises  or  if  spoken  to 
without  warning  ; and,  when  you  watched  him  drinking 
his  glass  of  water  at  dinner,  you  could  see  the  hand  shake 
a little.  But  all  this  was  put  down  to  nervousness,  and 
the  quiet,  steady,  “sip-sip-sip,  fill  and  sip-sip-sip,  again/’ 
that  went  on  in  his  own  room  when  he  was  by  himself, 
was  never  known.  Which  was  miraculous,  seeing  how 
everything  in  a man’s  private  life  is  public  property  out 
here. 

Moriarty  was  drawn,  not  into  Mrs.  Reiver’s  set,  be- 
cause they  were  not  his  sort,  but  into  the  power  of  Mrs. 
Reiver,  and  he  fell  down  in  front  of  her  and  made  a god- 
dess of  her.  This  was  due  to  his  coming  fresh  out  of  the 
jungle  to  a big  town.  He  could  not  scale  things  properly 
or  see  who  was  what. 

Because  Mrs.  Reiver  was  cold  and  hard,  he  said  she 
was  stately  and  dignified.  Because  she  had  no  brains, 
and  could  not  talk  cleverly,  he  said  she  was  reserved  and 
shy.  Mrs.  Reiver  shy  ! Because  she  was  unworthy  of 


IN  ERROR. 


165 

honor  or  reverence  from  any  one,  he  reverenced  her  from 
a distance  and  dowered  her  with  all  the  virtues  in  the 
Bible  and  most  of  those  in  Shakespeare. 

This  big,  dark,  abstracted  man  who  was  so  nervous 
when  a pony  cantered  behind  him,  used  to  moon  in  the 
train  of  Mrs.  Reiver,  blushing  with  pleasure  when  she 
threw  a word  or  two  his  way.  His  admiration  was 
strictly  platonic  : even  other  women  saw  and  admitted 
this.  He  did  not  move  out  in  Simla,  so  he  heard  nothing 
against  his  idol : which  was  satisfactory.  Mrs.  Reiver 
took  no  special  notice  of  him,  beyond  seeing  that  he  was 
added  to  her  list  of  admirers,  and  going  for  a walk  with 
him  now  and  then,  just  to  show  that  he  was  her  property, 
claimable  as  such.  Moriarty  must  have  done  most  of 
the  talking,  for  Mrs.  Reiver  couldn't  talk  much  to  a man 
of  his  stamp  ; and  the  little  she  said  could  not  have  been 
profitable.  What  Moriarty  believed  in,  as  he  had  good 
reason  to,  was  Mrs.  Reiver's  influence  over  him,  and,  in 
that  belief,  set  himself  seriously  to  try  to  do  away  with 
the  vice  that  only  he  himself  knew  of. 

His  experiences  while  he  was  fighting  with  it  must  have 
been  peculiar,  but  he  never  described  them.  Sometimes 
he  would  hold  off  from  everything  except  water  for  a 
week.  Then,  on  a rainy  night,  when  no  one  had  asked 
him  out  to  dinner,  and  there  was  a big  fire  in  his  room, 
and  everything  comfortable,  he  would  sit  down  and  make 
a big  night  of  it  by  adding  little  nip  to  little  nip,  planning 
big  schemes  of  reformation  meanwhile,  until  he  threw 
himself  on  his  bed  hopelessly  drunk.  He  suffered  next 
morning. 

One  night,  the  big  crash  came.  He  was  troubled  in 
his  own  mind  over  his  attempts  to  make  himself  ‘^worthy 
of  the  friendship " of  Mrs.  Reiver.  The  past  ten  days 
had  been  very  bad  ones,  and  the  end  of  it  all  was 


i66 


m ERROR. 


that  he  received  the  arrears  of  two  and  three  quar- 
ter years  of  sipping  in  one  attack  of  delirium  tremens 
of  the  subdued  kind  ; beginning  with  suicidal  depres- 
sion, going  on  to  fits  and  starts  and  hysteria,  and  end- 
ing with  downright  raving.  As  he  sat  in  a chair  in 
front  of  the  fire,  or  walked  up  and  down  the  room  pick- 
ing a handkerchief  to  pieces,  you  heard  what  poor 
Moriarty  really  thought  of  Mrs.  Reiver,  for  he  raved 
about  her  and  his  own  fall  for  the  most  part  ; though 
he  ravelled  some  P.  W.  D.  accounts  into  the  same  skein 
of  thought.  He  talked  and  talked,  and  talked  in  a low 
dry  whisper  to  himself,  and  there  was  no  stopping  him. 
He  seemed  to  know  that  there  was  something  wrong, 
and  twice  tried  to  pull  himself  together  and  confer 
rationally  with  the  Doctor  ; but  his  mind  ran  out  of 
control  at  once,  and  he  fell  back  to  a whisper  and  the 
story  of  his  troubles.  It  is  terrible  to  hear  a big  man 
babbling  like  a child  of  all  that  a man  usually  locks  up, 
and  puts  away  in  the  deep  of  his  heart.  Moriarty  read 
out  his  very  soul  for  the  benefit  of  any  one  who  was  in 
the  room  between  ten-thirty  that  night  and  two-forty-five 
next  morning. 

From  what  he  said,  one  gathered  how  immense  an  in- 
fluence Mrs.  Reiver  held  over  him,  and  how  thoroughly 
he  felt  for  his  own  lapse.  His  whisperings  cannot,  of 
course,  be  put  down  here  ; but  they  were  very  instructive 
as  showing  the  errors  of  his  estimates. 


When  the  trouble  was  over,  and  his  few  acquaintances 
were  pitying  him  for  the  bad  attack  of  jungle-fever  that 
had  so  pulled  him  down,  Moriarty  swore  a big  oath  to 
himself  and  went  abroad  again  with  Mrs.  Reiver  till  the 
end  of  the  season,  adoring  her  in  a quiet  and  deferential 
way  as  an  angel  from  heaven.  Later  on  he  took  to  riding 


m ERROR, 


167 


— not  hacking  but  honest  riding — which  was  good  proof 
that  he  was  improving,  and  you  could  slam  doors  behind 
him  without  his  jumping  to  his  feet  with  a gasp.  That, 
again,  was  hopeful. 

How  he  kept  his  oath,  and  what  it  cost  him  in  the 
beginning  nobody  know^s.  He  certainly  managed  to 
compass  the  hardest  thing  that  a man  who  has  drunk 
heavily  can  do.  He  took  his  peg  and  wine  at  dinner  ; 
but  he  never  drank  alone,  and  never  let  what  he  drank 
have  the  least  hold  on  him. 

Once  he  told  a bosom-friend  the  story  of  his  great 
trouble,  and  how  the  ‘influence  of  a pure  honest  woman, 
and  an  angel  as  well  had  saved  him.  When  the  man 
— startled  at  anything  good  being  laid  to  Mrs.  Reiver's 
door — laughed,  it  cost  him  Moriarty's  friendship.  Mo- 
riarity  who  is  married  now  to  a woman  ten  thousand 
times  better  than  Mrs.  Reiver — a woman  who  believes 
that  there  is  no  man  on  earth  as  good  and  clever  as  her 
husband — will  go  down  to  his  grave  vowing  and  protest- 
ing that  Mrs.  Reiver  saved  him  from  ruin  in  both 
worlds. 

That  she  knew  anything  of  Moriarity's  weakness 
nobody  believed  for  a moment.  That  she  would  have 
cut  him  dead,  thrown  him  over,  and  acquainted  all  her 
friends  with  her  discovery,  if  she  had  known  of  it,  nobody 
who  knew  her  doubted  for  an  instant. 

Moriarity  thought  her  something  she  never  was,  and 
in  that  belief  saved  himself  Which  was  just  as  good  as 
though  she  had  been  everything  that  he  had  imagined. 

But  the  question  is,  what  claim  will  Mrs.  Reiver  have 
to  the  credit  of  Moriarity's  salvation,  when  her  day  of 
reckoning  comes  ? 


i68 


A BANK  FRAUD. 


A BANK  FRAUD. 

He  drank  strong  waters  and  his  speech  was  coarse  ; 

He  purchased  raiment  and  forebore  to  pay ; 

He  struck  a trusting  junior  with  a horse, 

And  won  Gymkhanas  in  a doubtful  way. 

Then,  ’twixt  a vice  and  folly,  turned  aside 

To  do  good  deeds  and  straight  to  cloak  them,  lied. 

The  Mess  Room, 

If  Reggie  Burke  were  in  India  now,  he  would  resent 
this  tale  being  told ; but  as  he  is  in  Hongkong  and  won't 
see  it,  the  telling  is  safe.  He  was  the  man  who  worked 
the  big  fraud  on  the  Sind  and  Sialkote  Bank.  He  was 
manager  of  an  up-country  Branch,  and  a sound  practical 
man  with  a large  experience  of  native  loan  and  insurance 
work.  He  could  combine  the  frivolities  of  ordinary  life 
with  his  work,  and  yet  do  well.  Reggie  Burke  rode 
anything  that  would  let  him  get  up,  danced  as  neatly  as 
he  rode,  and  was  wanted  for  every  sort  of  amusement  in 
the  Station. 

As  he  said  himself,  and  as  many  men  found  out  rather 
to  their  surprise,  there  were  two  Burkes,  both  very  much 
at  your  service.  Reggie  Burke,"  between  four  and  ten, 
ready  for  anything  from  a hot-weather  gymkhana  to  a 
riding-picnic  ; and,  between  ten  and  four,  ‘'Mr.  Reginald 
Burke,  Manager  of  the  Sind  and  Sialkote  Branch  Bank." 
You  might  play  polo  with  him  one  afternoon  and  hear 
him  express  his  opinions  when  a man  crossed  ; and  you 
might  call  on  him  next  morning  to  raise  a two-thousand 
rupee  loan  on  a five  hundred  pound  insurance-policy, 


A BANA:  FRAUD. 


169 

eighty  pounds  paid  in  premiums.  He  would  recognize 
you,  but  you  would  have  some  trouble  in  recognizing 
him. 

The  Directors  of  the  Bank — it  had  its  head-quarters  in 
Calcutta  and  its  General  Manager  s word  carried  weight 
with  the  Government — picked  their  men  well.  They  had 
tested  Reggie  up  to  a fairly  severe  breaking-strain.  They 
trusted  him  just  as  much  as  Directors  ever  trust  Managers. 
You  must  see  for  yourself  whether  their  trust  was  mis- 
placed. 

Reggie's  Branch  was  in  a big  Station,  and  worked 
with  the  usual  staff — one  Manager,  one  Accountant,  both 
English,  a Cashier,  and  a horde  of  native  clerks  ; besides 
the  Police  patrol  at  nights  outside.  The  bulk  of  its  work, 
for  it  was  in  a thriving  district,  was  hoondi  and  accom- 
modation of  all  kinds.  A fool  has  no  grip  of  this  sort  ot 
business  ; and  a clever  man  who  does  not  go  about 
among  his  clients,  and  know  more  than  a little  of  their 
affairs,  is  worse  than  a fool.  Reggie  was  young  looking, 
clean-shaved,  with  a twinkle  in  his  eye,  and  a head  that 
nothing  short  of  a gallon  of  the  Gunners'  Madeira  could 
make  any  impression  on. 

One  day,  at  a big  dinner,  he  announced  casually  that 
the  Directors  had  shifted  on  to  him  a Natural  Curiosity, 
from  England,  in  the  Accountant  line.  He  was  per- 
fectly correct.  Mr.  Silas  Riley,  Accountant,  was  a 
most  curious  animal — a long,  gawky,  rawboned  York- 
shireman,  full  of  the  savage  self-conceit  that  blossoms 
only  in  the  best  county  in  England.  Arrogance  was  a 
mild  word  for  the  mental  attitude  of  Mr.  S.  Riley.  He 
had  worked  himself  up,  after  seven  years,  to  a Cashier's 
position  in  a Huddersfield  Bank  ; and  all  his  experience 
lay  among  the  factories  of  the  North.  Perhaps  he  would 
have  done  better  on  the  Bombay  side,  where  they  are 


170 


A BANIC  FRAUD. 


happy  with  one-half  percent,  profits,  and  money  is  cheap, 
He  was  useless  for  Upper  India  and  a wheat  Province, 
where  a man  wants  a large  head  and  a touch  of  imagina- 
tion if  he  is  to  turn  out  a satisfactory  balance-sheet. 

He  was  wonderfully  narrow-minded  in  business,  and, 
being  new  to  the  country,  had  no  notion  that  Indian 
banking  is  totally  distinct  from  Home  work.  Like  most 
clever  self-made  men,  he  had  much  simplicity  in  his 
nature  ; and,  somehow  or  other,  had  construed  the  ordi- 
narily polite  terms  of  his  letter  of  engagement  into  a belief 
that  the  Directors  had  chosen  him  on  account  of  his 
special  and  brilliant  talents,  and  that  they  set  great  store 
by  him.  This  notion  grew  and  crystallized  ; thus  adding 
to  his  natural  North-country  conceit.  Further,  he  was 
delicate,  suffered  from  some  trouble  in  his  chest,  and  was 
short  in  his  temper. 

You  will  admit  that  Reggie  had  reason  tO  call  his  new 
Accountant  a Natural  Curiosity.  The  two  men  failed  to 
hit  it  off  at  all.  Riley  considered  Reggie  a wild,  feather- 
headed  idiot,  given  to  Heaven  only  knew  what  dissipa- 
tion in  low  places  called  Messes,  '"  and  totally  unfit  for  the 
serious  and  solemn  vocation  of  banking.  He  could  never 
get  over  Reggie’s  look  of  youth  and  ‘‘you-be-damned  ” 
air;  and  he  couldn’t  understand  Reggie’s  friends — clean- 
built,  careless  men  in  the  Army — who  rode  over  to  big 
Sunday  breakfasts  at  the  Bank,  and  told  sultry  stories 
till  Riley  got  up  and  left  the  room.  Riley  was  always 
showing  Reggie  how  the  business  ought  to  be  conducted, 
and  Reggie  had  more  than  once  to  remind  him  that  seven 
years’  limited  experience  between  Huddersfield  and  Bev- 
erly did  not  qualify  a man  to  steer  a big  up-country  busi- 
ness. Then  Riley  sulked,  and  referred  to  himself  as  a 
pillar  of  the  Bank  and  a cherished  friend  of  the  Directors, 
and  Reggie  tore  his  hair.  If  a man’s  English  subordinates 


A BANK  FRAUD. 


171 


fail  him  in  this  country,  he  comes  to  a hard  time  indeed, 
for  native  help  has  strict  limitations.  In  the  winter  Riley 
went  sick  for  weeks  at  a time  with  his  lung  complaint, 
and  this  threw  more  work  on  Reggie.  But  he  preferred  it 
to  the  everlasting  friction  when  Riley  was  well. 

One  of  the  Travelling  Inspectors  of  the  Bank  dis- 
covered these  collapses  and  reported  them  to  the  Direc- 
tors. Now  Riley  had  been  foisted  on  the  Bank  by  an 
M.  R,  who  wanted  the  support  of  Riley's  father,  who, 
again,  was  anxious  to  get  his  son  out  to  a warmer  climate 
because  of  those  lungs.  The  M.  R had  interest  in  the 
Bank ; but  one  of  the  Directors  wanted  to  advance  a 
nominee  of  his  own  ; and,  after  Riley's  father  had  died, 
he  made  the  rest  of  the  Board  see  that  an  Accountant 
who  was  sick  for  half  the  year,  had  better  give  place  to 
a healthy  man.  If  Riley  had  known  the  real  story  of  his 
appointment,  he  might  have  behaved  better  ; but,  know- 
ing nothing,  his  stretches  of  sickness  alternated  with  rest- 
less, persistent,  meddling  irritation  of  Reggie,  and  all  the 
hundred  ways  in  which  conceit  in  a subordinate  situation 
can  find  play.  Reggie  used  to  call  him  striking  and  hair- 
curling names  behind  his  back  as  a relief  to  his  own  feel- 
ings ; but  he  never  abused  him  to  his  face,  because  he 
said  : — ''  Riley  is  such  a frail  beast  that  half  of  his  loath- 
some conceit  is  due  to  pains  in  the  chest." 

Late  one  April,  Riled  went  very  sick  indeed.  The  doc- 
tor punched  him  and  thumped  him,  and  told  him  he 
would  be  better  before  long.  Then  the  doctor  went  to 
Reggie  and  said  : — ‘^Do  you  know  how  sick  your  Ac- 
countant is?"  ‘"No!"  said  Reggie — ''The  worse  the 
better,  confound  him  ! He's  a clacking  nuisance  when 
he's  well.  I’ll  let  you  take  away  the  Bank  Safe  if  you 
can  drug  him  silent  for  this  hot-weather." 

But  the  doctor  did  not  laugh — "Man,  I'm  not  joking,'' 


172 


A BANJ^  FRAUD. 


lie  said,  ‘^ril  give  him  another  three  months  in  his  bed 
and  a week  or  so  more  to  die  in.  On  my  honor  and  repu- 
tation that' s all  the  grace  he  has  in  this  world.  Consump- 
tion has  hold  of  him  to  the  marrow." 

Reggie's  face  changed  at  once  into  the  face  of  ''Mr. 
Reginald  Burke,"  and  he  answered  : — "What  can  I do } " 
"Nothing,"  said  the  doctor.  "For  all  practical  purposes 
the  man  is  dead  already.  Keep  him  quiet  and  cheerful 
and  tell  him  he's  going  to  recover.  That's  all.  I'll  look 
after  him  to  the  end,  of  course." 

The  doctor  went  away,  and  Reggie  sat  down  to  open 
the  evening  mail.  His  first  letter  was  one  from  the  Di- 
rectors, intimating  for  his  information  that  Mr.  Riley  was 
to  resign,  under  a month's  notice,  by  the  terms  of  his 
agreement,  telling  Reggie  that  their  letter  to  Riley  would 
follow  and  advising  Reggie  "of  the  coming  of  a new  Ac- 
countant, a man  whom  Reggie  knew  and  liked. 

Reggie  lit  a cheroot,  and,  before  he  had  finished  smok- 
ing, he  had  sketched  the  outline  of  a fraud.  He  put  away 
— "burked" — the  Directors'  letter,  and  went  in  to  talk  to 
Riley  who  was  as  ungracious  as  usual,  and  fretting  him- 
self over  the  way  the  Bank  would  run  during  his  illness. 
He  never  thought  of  the  extra  work  on  Reggie's  shoulders, 
but  solely  of  the  damage  to  his  own  prospects  of  advance- 
ment. Then  Reggie  assured  him  that  everything  would 
be  well,  and  that  he,  Reggie,  would  confer  with  Riley 
daily  on  the  management  of  the  Bank.  Riley  was  a little 
soothed,  but  he  hinted  in  as  many  words  that  he  did  not 
think  much  of  Reggie's  business  capacity.  Reggie  was 
humble.  And  he  had  letters  in  his  desk  from  the  Direc- 
tors that  a Gilbarte  or  a Hardie  might  have  been  proud  of! 

The  days  passed  in  the  big  darkened  house,  and  the 
Directors'  letter  of  dismissal  to  Riley  came  and  was  put 
away  by  Reggie  who,  every  evening,  brought  the  books 


A BANK  FRAUD. 


173 


to  Riley's  room,  and  showed  him  what  had  been  going 
forward,  while  Riley  snarled.  Reggie  did  his  best  to 
make  statements  pleasing  to  Riley,  but  the  Accountant 
was  sure  that  the  Bank  was  going  to  rack  and  ruin 
without  him.  In  June,  as  the  lying  in  bed  told  on  his 
spirit,  he  asked  whether  his  absence  had  been  noted  by 
the  Directors  and  Reggie  said  that  they  had  written 
most  sympathetic  letters,  hoping  that  he  would  be  able 
to  resume  his  valuable  services  before  long.  He  showed 
Riley  the  letters ; and  Riley  said  that  the  Directors  ought 
to  have  written  to  him  direct.  A few  days  later,  Reggie 
opened  Riley's  mail  in  the  half-light  of  the  room,  and 
gave  him  the  sheet — not  the  envelope — of  a letter  to  Riley 
from  the  Directors.  Riley  said  he  would  thank  Reggie 
not  to  interfere  with  his  private  papers,  specially  as 
Reggie  knew  he  was  too  weak  to  open  his  own  letters. 
Reggie  apologized. 

Then  Riley  s mood  changed,  and  he  lectured  Reggie  on 
his  evil  ways:  his  horses  and  his  bad  friends.  ‘^Of 
course  lying  here,  on  my  back,  Mr.  Burke,  I can't  keep 
you  straight;  but  when  I'm  well,  I do  hope  you'll  pay 
some  heed  to  my  words."  Reggie,  who  had  dropped 
polo,  and  dinners,  and  tennis,  and  all  to  attend  to  Riley, 
said  that  he  was  penitent  and  settled  Riley's  head  on  the 
pillow  and  heard  him  fret  and  contradict  in  hard,  dry, 
hacking  whispers,  without  a s^‘gn  of  impatience.  This  at 
the  end  of  a heavy  day's  office  work,  doing  double  duty, 
in  the  latter  half  of  June. 

When  the  new  Accountant  came,  Reggie  told  him  the 
facts  of  the  case,  and  announced  to  Riley  that  he  had 
a guest  staying  with  him.  Riley  said  that  he  might 
have  had  more  consideration  than  to  entertain  his 
‘‘doubtful  friends"  at  such  a time.  Reggie  made  Car- 
ron,  the  new  Accountant,  sleep  at  the  Club  in  conse- 


174 


A BANK  FRAUD. 


quence.  Carron's  arrival  took  some  of  the  heavy  work 
off  his  shoulders,  and  he  had  time  to  attend  to  Riley's 
exactions — to  explain,  soothe,  invent,  and  settle  and  re- 
settle the  poor  wretch  in  bed,  and  to  forge  complimentary 
letters  from  Calcutta.  At  the  end  of  the  first  month,  Riley 
wished  to  send  some  money  home  to  his  mother.  Reg- 
gie sent  the  draft.  At  the  end  of  the  second  month, 
Riley's  salary  came  in  just  the  same.  Reggie  paid  it  out 
of  his  own  pocket ; and,  with  it,  wrote  Riley  a beautiful 
letter  from  the  Directors. 

Riley  was  very  ill  indeed,  but  the  flame  of  his  life  burnt 
unsteadily.  Now  and  then  he  would  be  cheerful  and 
confident  about  the  future,  sketching  plans  for  going 
Home  and  seeing  his  mother.  Reggie  listened  patiently 
when  the  office-work  was  over,  and  encouraged  him. 

At  other  times,  Riley  insisted  on  Reggie  reading  the 
Bible  and  grim  '^Methody  " tracts  to  him.  Out  of  these 
tracts  he  pointed  morals  directed  at  his  Manager.  But 
he  always  found  time  to  worry  Reggie  about  the  work- 
ing of  the  Bank,  and  to  show  him  where  the  weak  points 
lay.  ^ 

This  in-door,  sick-room  life  and  constant  strains  wore 
Reggie  down  a good  deal,  and  shook  his  nerves,  and  low- 
ered his  billiard-play  by  forty  points.  But  the  business 
of  the  Bank,  and  the  business  of  the  sick-room,  had  to  go 
on,  though  the  glass  was  ii6^  in  the  shade. 

At  the  end  of  the  third  month,  Riley  was  sinking  fast, 
and  had  begun  to  realize  that  he  was  very  sick.  But  the 
conceit  that  made  him  worry  Reggie,  kept  him  from  be- 
lieving the  worst.  ''  He  wants  some  sort  of  mental  stim- 
ulant if  he  is  to  drag  on,"  said  the  doctor.  ‘‘Keep  him 
interested  in  life  if  you  care  about  his  living."  So  Riley, 
contrary  to  all  the  laws  of  business  and  the  finance,  re- 
cdved  ^ 25-per-cent  rise  of  salary  from  the  Directors, 


A BAN/C  FRAUD. 


175 


The  '‘mental  stimulant’'  succeeded  beautifully.  Riley 
was  happy  and  cheerful,  and,  as  is  often  the  case  in  con- 
sumption, healthiest  in  mind  when  the  body  was  weak- 
est. He  lingered  for  a full  month,  snarling  and  fretting 
about  the  Bank,  talking  of  the  future,  hearing  the  Bible 
read,  lecturing  Reggie  on  sin,  and  wondering  when  he 
would  be  able  to  move  abroad. 

But  at  the  end  of  September,  one  mercilessly  hot  even- 
ing, he  rose  up  in  his  bed  with  a little  gasp,  and  said 
quickly  to  Reggie  : — “ Mr.  Burke,  I am  going  to  die.  I 
know  it  in  myself.  My  chest  is  all  hollow  inside,  and 
there's  nothing  to  breathe  with.  To  the  best  of  my  knowl- 
edge I have  done  nowt," — he  was  returning  to  the  talk 
of  his  boyhood — " to  lie  heavy  on  my  conscience.  God 
be  thanked,  I have  been  preserved  from  the  grosser 
forms  of  sin  ; and  I counsel  Mr.  Burke.  ..." 

Here  his  voice  died  down,  and  Reggie  stooped  over 
him. 

" Send  my  salary  for  September  to  my  Mother.  . . . . 
done  great  things  with  the  Bank  if  I had  been  spared 
. . . . mistaken  policy no  fault  of  mine.  . ." 

Then  he  turned  his  face  to  the  wall  and  died. 

Reggie  drew  the  sheet  over  Its  face,  and  went  out  into 
the  verandah,  with  his  last  " mental  stimulant" — a letter 
of  condolence  and  sympathy  from  the  Directors — unused 
in  his  pocket. 

"Ifl'd  been  only  ten  minutes  earlier,  " thought  Reg- 
gie, " I might  have  heartened  him  up  to  pull  through  an- 
other day." 


176 


TO/yS’  AMENDMENT. 


TODS’  AMENDMENT. 

The  World  hath  set  its  heavy  yoke 
Upon  the  old  white-bearded  folk 
Who  strive  to  please  the  King. 

God’s  mercy  is  upon  the  young, 

God’s  wisdom  in  the  baby  tongue 
That  fears  not  anything. 

The  Parable  of  Chajju  Bhagat, 

Now  Tods’  Mamma  was  a singularly  charming  woman, 
and  every  one  in  Simla  knew  Tods.  Most  men  had 
saved  him  from  death  on  occasions.  He  was  beyond 
his  ayah's  control  altogether,  and  perilled  his  life  daily  to 
find  out  what  would  happen  if  you  pulled  a Mountain 
Battery  mule’s  tail.  He  was  an  utterly  fearless  young 
Pagan,  about  six  years  old,  and  the  only  baby  who  ever 
broke  the  holy  calm  of  the  Supreme  Legislative  Council. 

It  happened  this  way  : Tods’  pet  kid  got  loose,  and 
fled  up  the  hill,  off  the  Boileaugunge  Road,  Tods  after 
it,  until  it  burst  into  the  Viceregal  Lodge  lawn,  then 
attached  to  ‘‘  Peterhoff,”  The  Council  were  sitting  at 
the  time,  and  the  windows  were  open  because  it  was 
warm.  The  Red  Lancer  in  the  porch  told  Tods  to  go 
away  ; but  Tods  knew  the  Red  Lancer  and  most  of  the 
Members  of  Council  personally.  Moreover,  he  had 
firm  hold  of  the  kid’s  collar,  and  was  being  dragged  all 
across  the  flower-beds.  ‘'Give  my  salaam  to  the  long 
Councillor  Sahib,  and  ask  him  to  help  me  take  Moti 
back  ! ” gasped  Tods.  The  Council  heard  the  noise 
through  the  open  windows  ; and,  after  an  interval,  was 


TODS^  AMENDMENT. 


177 


seen  the  shocking  spectacle  of  a Legal  Member  and  a 
Lieutenant-Governor  helping,  under  the  direct  patronage 
of  a Commander-in-Chief  and  a Viceroy,  one  small  and 
very  dirty  boy  in  a sailor's  suit  and  a tangle  of  brown 
hair,  to  coerce  a lively  and  rebellious  kid.  They  headed 
it  off  down  the  path  to  the  Mall,  and  Tods  went  home  in 
triumph  and  told  his  Mamma  that  all  the  Councillor 
Sahibs  had  been  helping  him  to  catch  Moti.  Whereat  his 
Mamma  smacked  Tods  for  interfering  with  the  adminis- 
tration of  the  Empire  ; but  Tods  met  the  Legal  Member 
the  next  day,  and  told  him  in  confidence  that  if  the  Legal 
Member  ever  wanted  to  catch  a goat,  he.  Tods,  would  give 
him  all  the  help  in  his  power.  '‘Thank  you.  Tods,"  said 
the  Legal  Member. 

Tods  was  the  idol  of  some  eighij  jhampa7iis,  and  half 
as  many  saises.  He  saluted  them  all  as  "O  Brother." 
It  never  entered  his  head  that  any  living  human  being 
could  disobey  his  orders  ; and  he  was  the  buffer  between 
the  servants  and  his  Mammas  wrath.  The  working  of 
that  household  turned  on  Tods,  who  was  adored  by  every 
one  from  the  dhohy  to  the  dog-boy.  Even  Futteh  Khan, 
the  villainous  loafer  khit  from  Mussoorie,  shirked  risking 
Tods'  displeasure  for  fear  his  co-mates  should  look  down 
on  him. 

So  Tods  had  honor  in  the  land  from  Boileaugunge  to 
Chota  Simla,  and  ruled  justly  according  to  his  lights.  Of 
course,  he  spoke  Urdu,  but  he  had  also  mastered  many 
queer  side-speeches  like  the  chotee  holee  of  the  women, 
and  held  grave  converse  with  shopkeepers  and  Hill-coolies 
alike.  He  was  precocious  for  his  age,  and  his  mixing 
with  natives  had  taught  him  some  of  the  more  bitter  truths 
of  life  ; the  meanness  and  the  sordidness  of  it.  He  used, 
over  his  bread  and  milk,  to  deliver  solemn  and  serious 
aphorisms,  translated  from  the  vernacular  into  the  English, 

13 


TODS^  AMENDMENT. 


178 

that  made  his  Mamma  jump  and  vow  that  Tods  musi  go 
home  next  hot  weather. 

Just  when  Tods  was  in  the  bloom  of  his  power,  the 
Supreme  Legislature  were  hacking  out  a Bill,  for  the  Sub- 
Montane  Tracts,  a revision  of  the  then  Act,  smaller  than 
the  Punjab  Land  Bill  but  affecting  a few  hundred  thousand 
people  none  the  less.  The  Legal  Member  had  built,  and 
bolstered,  and  embroidered,  and  amended  that  Bill,  till  it 
looked  beautiful  on  paper.  Then  the  Council  began  to 
settle  what  they  called  the  minor  details.''  As  if  any 
Englishman  legislating  for  natives  knows  enough  to  know 
which  are  the  minor  and  which  are  the  major  points,  from 
the  native  point  of  view,  of  any  measure  ! That  Bill  was 
a triumph  of  ‘'safe  guarding  the  interests  of  the  tenant.’' 
One  clause  provided  that  land  should  not  be  leased  on 
longer  terms  than  five  years  at  a stretch  ; because,  if  the 
landlord  had  a tenant  bound  down  for,  say,  twenty  years, 
he  would  squeeze  the  very  life  out  of  him.  The  notion  was 
to  keep  up  a stream  of  independent  culti,vators  in  the  Sub- 
Montane  Tracts  ; and  ethnologically  and  politically  the 
notion  was  correct.  The  only  drawback  was  that  it  was 
altogether  wrong.  A native's  life  in  India  implies  the 
life  of  his  son.  Wherefore,  you  cannot  legislate  for  one 
generation  at  a time.  You  must  consider  the  next  from 
the  native  point  of  view.  Curiously  enough,  the  native 
now  and  then,  and  in  Northern  India  more  particularly, 
hates  being  over-protected  against  himself.  There  was 
a Naga  village  once,  where  they  lived  on  dead  and  buried 
Commissariat  mules  ....  But  that  is  another  story. 

For  many  reasons,  to  be  explained  later,  the  people 
concerned  objected  to  the  Bill.  The  Native  Member  in 
Council  knew  as  much  about  Punjabis  as  he  knew  about 
Charing  Cross.  He  had  said  in  Calcutta  that  “ the  Bill 
was  entirely  in  accord  with  the  desires  of  that  large  and 


TODS^  AMENDMENT, 


179 


important  class,  the  cultivators ; and  so  on,  and  so  on. 
The  Legal  Member  s knowledge  of  natives  was  limited  to 
English-speaking  Durbaris,  and  his  own  red  chaprassis,  the 
Sub-Montane  Tracts  concerned  no  one  in  particular,  the 
Deputy  Commissioners  were  a good  deal  too  driven  to 
make  representations,  and  the  measure  was  one  which 
dealt  with  small  landholders  only.  Nevertheless,  the 
Legal  Member  prayed  that  it  might  be  correct,  for  he  was 
a nervously  conscientious  man.  He  did  not  know  that 
no  man  can  tell  what  natives  think  unless  he  mixes  with 
them  with  the  varnish  off.  And  not  always  then.  But 
he  did  the  best  he  knew.  And  the  measure  came  up  to 
the  Supreme  Council  for  the  final  touches,  while  Tods 
patrolled  the  Burra  Simla  Bazar  in  his  morning  rides,  and 
played  with  the  monkey  belonging  to  Ditta  Mull,  the 
bunnia,  and  listened,  as  a child  listens,  to  all  the  stray 
talk  about  this  new  freak  of  the  Laf  Sahib's. 

One  day  there  was  a dinner-party,  at  the  house  of 
Tods’  Mamma,  and  the  Legal  Member  came.  Tods  was 
in  bed,  but  he  kept  awake  till  he  heard  the  bursts  of 
laughter  from  the  men  over  the  coffee.  Then  he  paddled 
out  in  his  little  red  flannel  dressing-gown  and  his  night- 
suit  and  took  refuge  by  the  side  of  his  father,  knowing 
that  he  would  not  be  sent  back.  See  the  miseries  of 
having  a family  ! ” said  Tods’  father,  giving  Tods  three 
prunes,  some  water  in  a glass  that  had  been  used  for 
claret,  and  telling  him  to  sit  still.  Tods  sucked  the 
prunes  slowly,  knowing  that  he  would  have  to  go  when 
they  were  finished,  and  sipped  the  pink  water  like  a man 
of  the  world,  as  he  listened  to  the  conversation.  Pres- 
ently, the  Legal  Member,  talking  shop  ” to  the  Head 
of  a Department,  mentioned  his  Bill  by  its  full  name — 
“ The  Sub  Montane  Tracts  Ryotwary  Revised  Enactment’' 


l8o  TODS^  AMENDMENT. 

Tods  caught  the  one  native  word  and  lifting  up  his  small 
voice  said  : — 

Oh,  I know  all  about  that ! Has  it  been  murramutted 
yet,  Councillor  Sahib/^ 

How  much? said  the  Legal  Member. 

Murramutted — mended. — Put  theek,  you  know — made 
nice  to  please  Ditta  Mull ! '' 

The  Legal  Member  left  his  place  and  moved  up  next  to 
Tods. 

‘‘  What  do  you  know  about  Ryotwari,  little  man?’'  he 
said. 

''  Tm  not  a little  man,  I’m  Tods,  and  I know  all  about  it. 
Ditta  Mull,  and  Choga  Lall,  and  Amir  Nath,  and — oh, 
lakhs  of  my  friends  tell  me  about  it  in  the  bazars  when  I 
talk  to  them.” 

''Oh,  they  do — do  they?  What  do  they  say.  Tods  ? 

Tods  tucked  his  feet  under  his  red  flannel  dressing- 
gown  and  said  : — " I must  JinkJ^ 

The  Legal  Member  waited  patiently.  Then  Tods,  with 
infinite  compassion  : 

" You  don’t  speak  my  talk,  do  you.  Councillor  Sahib?'* 

"No  ; I am  sorry  to  say  I do  not,”  said  the  Legal 
Member. 

" Very  well,”  said  Tods,”  " I must  Jink  in  English.” 

He  spent  a minute  putting  his  ideas  in  order,  and 
began  very  slowly,  translating  in  his  mind  from  the 
vernacular  to  English,  as  many  Anglo-Indian  children 
do.  You  must  remember  that  the  Legal  Member  help- 
ed him  on  by  questions  when  he  halted,  for  Tods  was 
not  equal  to  the  sustained  flight  of  oratory  that  follows. 

" Ditta  Mull  says  : — 'This  thing  is  the  talk  of  a child, 
and  was  made  up  by  fools.’  But  /don’t  think  you  are 
a fool.  Councillor  Sahib,"  said  Tods  hastily.  "You 
caught  my  goat.  This  is  what  Ditta  Mull  says  : — ' I am 


TODS^  AMENDMENT. 


l8l 

not  a fool,  and  why  should  the  Sirkar  say  I am  a child  ? 
I can  see  if  the  land  is  good  and  if  the  landlord  is  good. 
If  I am  a fool,  the  sin  is  upon  my  own  head.  For  five 
years  I take  my  ground  for  which  I have  saved  money, 
and  a wife  I take  too,  and  a little  son  is  born.'  Ditta 
Mull  has  one  daughter  now,  but  he  says  he  will  have  a 
son,  soon.  And  he  says  : ‘At  the  end  of  five  years,  by 
this  new  hundohust^  I must  go.  If  I do  not  go,  I must 
get  fresh  seals  and  Az^i^e/s-stamps  on  the  papers,  perhaps 
in  the  middle  of  the  harvest,  and  to  go  to  the  law  courts 
once  is  wisdom,  but  to  go  twice  is  Jehannum.'  That  is 
quite  ixxiQ”  explained  Tods  gravely.  “ All  my  friends  say 
so.  And  Ditta  Mull  says  : — ‘Always  fresh  takkus  and 
paying  money  to  vakils  and  chaprassis  and  law-courts 
every  five  years,  or  else  the  landlord  makes  me  go.  Why 
do  I want  to  go  t Am  I a fool  If  I am  a fool  and  do 
not  know,  after  forty  years,  good  land  when  I see  it,  let 
me  die  ! But  if  the  new  bundobusi  says  for  fifteen  years, 
that  it  is  good  and  wise.  My  little  son  is  a man,  and  I 
am  burnt,  and  he  takes  the  ground  or  another  ground, 
paying  only  once  for  the  /a^>^^^s-stamps  on  the  papers,  and 
his  little  son  is  born,  and  at  the  end  of  fifteen  years  is  a 
man  too.  But  what  profit  is  there  in  five  years  and  fresh 
papers  ? Nothing  but  dikh,  trouble,  dikh.  We  are  not 
young  men  who  take  these  lands,  but  old  ones — not  jats, 
but  tradesmen  with  a little  money — and  for  fifteen  years 
we  shall  have  peace.  Nor  are  we  children  that  the  Sirkar 
should  treat  us  so.'  " 

Here  Tods  stopped  short,  for  the  whole  table  were 
listening.  The  Legal  Member  said  to  Tods  : “Is  that 
all  ? " 

“All  lean  remember,"  said  Tods.  “But  you  should 
see  Ditta  Mull's  big  monkey.  It's  just  like  a Councillor 
Sahib. 


i82 


TODS'^  AMENDMENT. 


‘‘Tods  ! Go  to  bed,”  said  his  father. 

Tods  gathered  up  his  dressing-gown  tail  and  departed. 

The  Legal  Member  brought  his  hand  down  on  the 
table  with  a crash — “By  Jove  ! ” said  the  Legal  Member, 
“I  believe  the  boy  is  right.  The  short  tenure  is  the  weak 
point.  ” 

He  left  early,  thinking  over  what  Tods  had  said.  Now, 
it  was  obviously  impossible  for  the  Legal  Member  to  play 
with  a hunnids  monkey,  by  way  of  getting  understanding  ; 
but  he  did  better.  He  made  inquiries,  always  bearing  in 
mind  the  fact  that  the  real  native — not  the  hybrid.  Uni- 
versity-trained mule — is  as  timid  as  a colt,  and,  little  by 
little,  he  coaxed  some  of  the  men  whom  the  measure  con- 
cerned most  intimately  to  give  in  their  views,  which 
squared  very  closely  with  Tod's  evidence. 

So  the  Bill  was  amended  in  that  clause  ; and  the  Legal 
Member  was  filled  with  an  uneasy  suspicion  that  Native 
Members  represent  very  little  except  the  Orders  they  carry 
on  their  bosoms.  But  he  put  the  thought  from  him  as 
illiberal.  He  was  a most  Liberal  man. 

After  a time,  the  news  spread  through  the  bazars  that 
Tods  had  got  the  Bill  recast  in  the  tenure-clause,  and  if 
Tods’  Mamma  had  not  interfered,  Tods  would  have  made 
himself  sick  on  the  baskets  of  fruit  and  pistachio  nuts  and 
Cabuli  grapes  and  almonds  that  crowded  the  verandah. 
Till  he  went  Home,  Tods  ranked  some  few  degrees  before 
the  Viceroy  in  popular  estimation.  But  for  the  little  life  of 
him  Tods  could  not  understand  why. 

In  the  Legal  Member's  private-paper-box  still  lies  the 
rough  draft  of  the  Sub-Montane  Tracts  Ryotwary  Revised 
Enactment ; and,  opposite  the  twenty-second  clause, 
pencilled  in  blue  chalk,  and  signed  by  the  Legal  Member,  • 
are  the  word  “ Todd  Amendment^ 


THE  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  REGIMENT 


183 


THE  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  REGIMENT. 

Jain  ^Ardin’  was  a Sarjint’s  wife, 

A Sarjint’s  wife  wus  she. 

She  married  of  ’im  in  Or Ider short 
An’  corned  acrost  the  sea. 

(Chorus)  ’Ave  you  never  ’eard  tell  o’  Jain  ’Ardin’  ? 

Jain  ’Ardin’  ? 

Jain  ’Ardin’  ? 

’Ave  you  never  ’eard  tell  o’  Jain  ’Ardin’  ? 

The  pride  o’  the  Compan^^  ? 

Old  Barrack-Room  Ballad, 

“ A GENTLEMAN  who  doesn’t  know  the  Circassian  Circle 
oug-ht  not  to  stand  up  for  it — puttin’  everybody  out.”  That 
was  what  Miss  McKenna  said,  and  the  Sergeant  who  was 
my  vis-a-vis  looked  the  same  thing.  I was  afraid  of  Miss 
McKenna.  She  was  six  feet  high,  all  yellow  freckles  and 
red  hair,  and  was  simply  clad  in  white  satin  shoes,  a pink 
muslin  dress,  an  apple-green  stuff  sash,  and  black  silk 
gloves,  with  yellow  roses  in  her  hair.  Wherefore  I fled 
from  Miss  McKenna  and  sought  my  friend  Private  Mul- 
vaney  who  was  at  the  cant — refreshment-table. 

‘‘So  you’ve  been  dancin’  with  little  Jhansi  McKenna, 
Sorr — she  that’s  goin’  to  marry  Corp’ril  Slane.'^  Whin  you 
next  conversh  wid  your  lorruds  an’  your  ladies,  tell  thim 
you’ve  danced  wid  little  Jhansi.  ’Tis  a thing  to  be  proud 
av.” 

But  I wasn’t  proud.  I was  humble.  I saw  a story 
in  Private  Mulvaney’s  eye  ; and,  besides,  if  he  stayed  too 
long  at  the  bar,  he  would,  I knew,  qualify  for  more  pack- 


1 84  the  daughter  of  the  regiment 

drill.  Now  to  meet  an  esteemed  friend  doing  pack-drill 
outside  the  guard-room,  is  embarrassing,  especially  if  you 
happen  to  be  walking  with  his  Commanding  Officer. 

‘‘Come  onto  the  parade-ground,  Mulvaney,  ifs  cooler 
there,  and  tell  me  about  Miss  McKenna.  What  is  she, 
and  who  is  she,  and  why  is  she  called  ‘Jhansi 

“ D’ye  mane  to  say  youVe  never  heard  av  Ould  Pum- 
meloe  s daughter  ? An'  you  thinkin'  you  know  things  ! 
Pm  wid  ye  in  a minuf  whin  me  poipe's  lit." 

We  came  out  under  the  stars.  Mulvaney  sat  down  on 
one  of  the  artillery  bridges,  and  began  in  the  usual  way  : 
his  pipe  between  his  teeth,  his  big  hands  clasped  and 
dropped  between  his  knees,  and  his  cap  well  on  the  back 
of  his  head  : 

“Whin  Mrs.  Mulvaney,  that  is,  was  Miss  Shad  that  was, 
you  were  a dale  younger  than  you  are  now,  an’  the 
Army  was  difrint  in  sev'ril  e-senshuls.  Bhoys  have  no 
call  for  to  marry  now-a-days,  an'  that's  why  the  Army 
has  so  few  rale,  good,  honust,  swearin',  strapagin',  tin- 
der-hearted, heavy-futted  wives  as  ut  used  to  hav  whin  I 
was  a Corp'ril.  I was  rejuced  afterwards — but  no  mather 
— I was  a Corp'ril  wanst.  In  thim  times,  a man  lived 
died  wid  his  rigimint ; an' by  natur',  he  married  whin  he 
was  a man.  Whin  I was  Corp'ril — Mother  av  Hivin,  how 
the  rigimint  has  died  an'  been  borrun  since  that  day  ! — 
my  Color-Sar'jint  was  Ould  McKenna,  an’  a married 
man  tu.  An'  his  woife — his  first  woife,  for  he  married 
three  times  did  McKenna — was  Bridget  McKenna,  from 
Portarlington,  like  mesilf.  I've  misremembered  fwhat  her 
first  name  was;  but  in  B Comp'ny  we  called  her  ‘Ould 
Pummeloe ' by  reason  av  her  figure,  which  was  entirely 
cir-cum-fe-renshil.  Like  the  big  dhrum  ! Now  that 
woman — God  rock  her  sowl  to  rest  in  glory  I — was  for 
everlastin'  havin'  childher  ; an’  McKenna,  whin  the  fifth 


THE  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  REGIMENT 


185 

or  sixth  come  squallin'  on  to  the  musther-roll,  swore  he 
wud  number  them  off  in  future.  ButOuld  Pummeloeshe 
prayed  av  him  to  christen  thim  after  the  names  of  the  sta- 
tions they  was  borrun  in.  So  there  was  Colaba  McKenna, 
an'  Muttra  McKenna,  an'  a whole  Presidincy  av  other  Mc- 
Kennas, an'  little  Jhansi,  dancin'  over  yonder.  Whin 
the  children  wasn't  hornin',  they  was  dying  ; for,  av  our 
childer  die  like  sheep  in  these  days,  they  died  like  flies 
thin.  I lost  me  own  little  Shad — but  no  matther.  'Tis 
long  ago,  and  Mrs.  Mulvaney  niver  had  another. 

I'm  digresshin.  Wan  divil's  hot  summer,  there  come 
an  order  from  some  mad  ijjit,  whose  name  I misre- 
member,  for  the  rigimint  to  go  up-country.  May  be  they 
wanted  to  know  how  the  new  rail  carried  throops.  They 
knew  ! On  me  sowl,  they  knew  before  they  was  done  ! 
Ould  Pummeloe  had  just  buried  Muttra  McKenna  ; an'  the 
season  bein' onwholesim,  only  little  Jhansi  McKenna,  who 
was  four  year  ould  thin,  was  left  on  hand. 

Five  children  gone  in  fourteen  months.  'Twas  harrd, 
wasn't  ut  } 

So  we  wint  up  to  our  new  station  in  that  blazin'  heat 
— may  the  curse  av  Saint  Lawrence  conshume  the 
man  who  gave  the  ordher  ! Will  I ivir  forget  that  move  } 
They  gave  us  two  wake  thrains  to  the  rigimint ; an'  we 
was  eight  hundher'  and  sivinty  strong.  There  was 
A.  B.  C.  an'  D.  Companies  in  the  secon'  thrain,  wid 
twelve  women,  no  orficers'  ladies,  an'  thirteen  childher. 
We  was  to  go  six  hundher'  miles,  an'  railways  was  new 
in  thim  days.  Whin  we  had  been  a night  in  the  belly 
av  the  thrain — the  men  ragin'  in  their  shirts  an' dhrink- 
in'  anything  they  cud  find,  an'  eatin'  bad  fruit-stuff  whin 
they  cud,  for  we  cudn't  stop  'em — I was  a Corp'ril  thin — • 
the  cholera  bruk  out  wid  the  dawnin'  av  the  day. 

Pray  to  the  Saints,  you  may  niver  see  cholera  in  a 


i86 


THE  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  REGIMENT 


throop-thrain  ! Tis  like  the  judgmint  av  God  hittirf 
down  from  the  nakid  sky  ! We  run  into  a rest-camp — as 
lit  might  have  been  Ludianny,  but  not  by  any  means  so 
comfortable.  The  Orficer  Commandin'  sent  a telegrapt 
up  the  line,  three  hundher'  mile  up,  askin' for  help.  Faith, 
we  wanted  ut,  for  ivry  sowl  av  the  followers  ran  for  the 
dear  life  as  soon  as  the  thrain  stopped ; an'  by  the  time 
that  telegrapt  was  writ,  there  wasn't  a naygur  in  the  sta- 
tion exceptin'  the  telegrapt-clerk — an'  he  only  bekaze  he 
was  held  down  to  his  chair  by  the  scruff  av  his  sneakin' 
black  neck.  Thin  the  day  began  wid  the  noise  in  the 
carr'ges,  an'  the  rattle  av  the  men  on  the  platform 
failin'  over,  arms  an'  all,  as  they  stud  for  to  answer  the 
Comp'ny  muster-roll  before  goin'  over  to  the  camp. 
Tisn't  for  me  to  say  what  like  the  cholera  was  like. 
Maybe  the  Doctor  cud  ha'  tould,  av  he  hadn't  dropped 
on  to  the  platform  from  the  door  av  a carriage  where 
we  was  takin’  out  the  dead.  He  died  wid  the  rest. 
Some  bhoys  had  died  in  the  night.  We  tuk  out  siven, 
and  twenty  more  was  sickenin'  as  we  tuk  thim.  The 
women  was  huddled  up  any  ways,  screamin’  wid  fear. 

Sez  the  Commandin'  Orficer  whose  name  I misre- 
member  : — ^ Take  the  women  over  to  that  tope  av  trees 
yonder.  Get  thim  out  av  the  camp.  'Tis  no  place  for 
thim.' 

“ Ould  Pummeloe  was  sittin'  on  her  beddin'-rowl, 
thryin'  to  kape  little  Jhansi  quiet.  ‘ Go  off  to  that  tope  !' 
sez  the  Orficer.  ' Go  out  av  the  men's  way  ! ' 

^Be  damned  av  I do  ! ' sez -Ould  Pummeloe,  an'  little 
Jhansi,  squattin'  by  her  mother's  side,  squeaks  out  : — 
‘ Be  damned  av  I do,'  tu.  Thin  Ould  Pummeloe  turns  to 
the  women  an'  she  sez  : — 'Are  ye  goin'  to  let  the  bhoys 
die  while  you're  picnickin’,  ye  sluts  t ' sez  she.  ‘ 'Tis 
wather  they  want.  Come  on  an'  help.' 


THE  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  REGIMENT.  187 

^'Wid  that,  she  turns  up  her  sleeves  an'  steps  out  for 
a well  behind  the  rest-camp — little  Jhansi  trottin'  behind 
wid  a lotah  an'  string,  an'  the  other  women  followin’ 
like  lambs,  wid  horse-buckets  and  cookin'  degchies. 
Whin  all  the  things  was  full,  Ould  Pummeloe  marches 
back  into  camp — 'twas  like  a battlefield  wid  all  the  glory 
missin' — at  the  hid  av  the  rigimint  av  women. 

‘‘McKenna,  me  man!'  she  sez,  wid  a voice  on  her 
like  grand-roun's  challenge  ‘ tell  the  bhoys  to  be  quiet. 
Ould  Pummeloe's  acomin'  to  look  afther  thim — wid  free 
dhrinks. ' 

“ Thin  we  cheered,  and  the  cheerin'  in  the  lines  was 
louder  than  the  noise  av  the  poor  divils  wid  the  sickness 
on  thim.  But  not  much. 

“You  see,  we  was  a new  an'  raw  rigimint  in  those 
days,  an^  we  cud  make  neither  head  nor  tail  av  the 
sickness ; an'  so  we  was  useless.  The  men  was  goin' 
roun'  an'  about  like  dumb  sheep,  waitin'  for  the  nex'  man 
to  fall  over,  an'  sayin'  undher  their  spache : — ‘Fwhat  is 
ut  In  the  name  av  God,  fwhat  is  nt? ' ’Twas  horrible. 
But  through  ut  all,  up  an'  down,  an'  down  an'  up,  wint 
Ould  Pummeloe  an’  little  Jhansi — all  we  cud  see  av  the 
baby,  undher  a dead  man's  helmet  wid  the  chin-strap 
swingin'  about  her  little  stummick — up  an'  down  wid  the 
wather  and  fwhat  brandy  there  was. 

“Now  an'  thin,  Ould  Pummeloe,  the  tears  runninMown 
her  fat,  red  face,  sez  : — ‘ Me  bhoys,  me  poor,  dead  dartin', 
bhoys  ! ' But,  for  the  most,  she  was  thryin'  to  put  heart 
into  the  men  an'  kape  thim  stiddy ; and  little  Jhansi  was 
tellin'  thim  all  they  wud  be  ‘ betther  in  the  mornin'/ 
'Twas  a thrick  she'd  picked  up  from  hearing  Ould  Pum- 
meloe whin  Muttra  was  burnin'  out  wid  fever.  In  the 
mornin' ! 'Twas  the  iverlastin'  mornin'  at  St.  Peter’s  Gate 
was  the  mornin'  for  seven  an'  twenty  good  men ; an’ 


i88 


THE  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  REGIMENT, 


twenty  more  was  sick  to  the  death  in  that  bitter,  burnin' 
sun.  But  the  women  worked  like  angils,  asTve  said,  an' 
the  men  like  divils,  till  two  doctors  come  down  from 
above,  an'  we  was  rescued. 

‘‘But,  just  before  that,  Ould  Pummeloe,  on  her  knees 
over  a bhoy  in  my  squad — right-cot  man  to  me  he  was  in 
the  barrick  — tellin'  him  the  worrud  av  the  Church  that 
niver  failed  a man  yet,  sez  : — ‘ Hould  me  up,  bhoys  ! Pm 
feelin'  bloody  sick  ! ' 'Twas  the  sun,  not  the  cholera,  did 
ut.  She  misremembered  she  was  only  wearin'  her  ould 
black  bonnet,  an'  she  died  wid  ‘McKenna,  me  man,' 
houldin'  her  up,  an'  the  bhoys  howled  whin  they  buried 
her. 

“That  night,  a big  wind  blew,  an'  blew,  an'  blew,  an' 
blew  the  tents  flat.  But  it  blew  the  cholera  away  an’ 
niver  another  case  there  was  all  the  while  we  was  waitin' 
— ten  days  in  quarintin'.  Av  you  will  belave  me,  the 
thrack  of  the  sickness  in  the  camp  was  for  all  the  worruld 
the  thrack  of  a man  walkin'  four  times  in  a figur-av-eight 
through  the  tents.  They  say  'tis  the  Wandherin'  Jew 
takes  the  cholera  wid  him.  I believe  ut. 

“An'  that,''  said  Mulvaney,  illogically,  “is  the  cause 
why  little  Jhansi  McKenna  is  fwhat  she  is.  She  was 
brought  up  by  the  Quarter-Master  Sergeant's  wife  whin 
McKenna  died,  but  she  bflongs  to  B.  Comp'ny ; an'  this 
tale  Pm  tellin'  you — wid  a proper  appreciashin  av  Jhansi 
McKenna — Pve  belted  into  every  recruity  av  the  Comp'ny 
as  he  was  drafted.  Faith,  'twas  me  belted  Corp'ril  Slane 
into  askin'  the  girl ! " 

“Not  really  t " 

“Man,  I did!  She's  no  beauty  to  look  at,  but  she's 
Ould  Pummeloe's  daughter,  an'  'tis  my  juty  to  provide 
for  her.  Just  before  Slane  got  his  wan-eight  a day,  I 
sez  to  him  : — ‘Slane,'  sez  I,  ‘to-morrow  'twill  be  insubor- 


THE  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  REGIMENT. 


189 

dinashin  av  me  to  chastise  you  ; but,  by  the  sowl  av 
Ould  Pummeloe,  who  is  now  in  glory,  av  you  don't  give 
me  your  worrud  to  ask  Jhansi  McKenna  at  wanst.  I’ll 
peel  the  flesh  off  yer  bones  wid  a brass  huk  to-night. 
'Tis  a dishgrace  to  B.  Comp'ny  she's  been  single  so 
long ! ' sez  I.  Was  I goin'  to  let  a three-year-ould  pre- 
shume  to  discoorse  wid  me;  my  will  bein' set  No  ! 
Slane  wint  an'  asked  her.  He's  a good  bhoy  is  Slane. 
Wan  av  these  days  he'll  get  into  the  Com'ssariat  an  dhrive 

a boggy  wid  his savin's.  So  I provided  for  Ould 

Pummeloe's  daughter  ; an'  now  you  go  along  an'  dance 
agin  wid  her.” 

And  I did. 

I felt  a respect  for  Miss  Jhansi  McKenna  ; and  I went 
to  her  wedding  later  on. 

Perhaps  I will  tell  you  about  that  one  of  these  days. 


IN  THE  PRIDE  OF  HIS  YOUTH. 


190 


IN  THE  PRIDE  OF  HIS  YOUTH. 

“ Stopped  in  the  straight  when  the  race  was  his  own ! 

Look  at  him  cutting  it — cur  to  the  bone ! ” 

“ Ask,  ere  the  youngster  be  rated  and  chidden, 

What  did  he  carry  and  how  was  he  ridden  ? 

Maybe  they  used  him  too  much  at  the  start ; 

Maybe  Fate’s  weight-cloths  are  breaking  his  heart.’* 

Life'’s  Handicap, 

When  I was  telling*  you  of  the  joke  that  The  Worm 
played  off  on  the  Senior  Subaltern,  I promised  a .some- 
what similar  tale,  but  with  all  the  jest  left  out.  This  is 
that  tale. 

Dicky  Hatt  was  kidnapped  in  his  early,  early  youth — 
neither  by  landlady's  daughter,  housemaid,  barmaid,  nor 
cook,  but  by  a girl  so  nearly  of  his  own  caste  that  only  a 
woman  could  have  said  she  was  just  the  least  little  bit  in 
the  world  below  it.  This  happened  a month  before  he 
came  out  to  India,  and  five  days  after  his  one-and- 
twentieth  birthday.  The  girl  was  nineteen — six  years 
older  than  Dicky  in  the  things  of  this  world,  that  is  to  say 
' — and,  for  the  time,  twice  as  foolish  as  he. 

Excepting,  always,  falling  off  a horse  there  is  nothing 
more  fatally  easy  than  marriage  before  the  Registrar. 
The  ceremony  costs  less  than  fifty  shillings,  and  is  re- 
markably like  walking  into  a pawn-shop.  After  the 
declarations  of  residence  have  been  put  in,  four  minutes 
will  cover  the  rest  of  the  proceedings — fees,  attestation, 
and  all.  Then  the  Registrar  slides  the  blotting-pad  over 
the  names,  and  says  grimly  with  his  pen  between  his 
teeth  : — Now  you're  man  and  wife  ; " and  the  couple 


IN  THE  PRIDE  OF  HIS  YOUTH 


191 

walk  out  into  the  street,  feeling  as  if  something  were  hor- 
ribly illegal  somewhere. 

But  that  ceremony  holds  and  can  drag  a man  to  his 
undoing  just  as  thoroughly  as  the  long  as  ye  both 
shall  live  ''  curse  from  the  altar-rails,  with  the  brides- 
maids giggling  behind,  and  The  Voice  that  breathed  der 
Eden  lifting  the  roof  off.  In  this  manner  was  Dicky 
Hatt  kidnapped,  and  he  considered  it  vastly  fine,  for  he 
had  received  an  appointment  in  India  which  carried  a 
magnificent  salary  from  the  Home  point  of  view.  The 
marriage  was  to  be  kept  secret  for  a year.  Then  Mrs. 
Dicky  Hatt  was  to  come  out  and  the  rest  of  life  was  to 
be  a glorious  golden  mist.  That  was  how  they  sketched 
it  under  the  Addison  Road  Station  lamps  ; and,  after 
one  short  month,  came  Gravesend  and  Dicky  steaming 
out  to  his  new  life,  and  the  girl  crying  in  a thirty-shil- 
lings a week  bed-and-living-room,  in  a back-street  off 
Montpelier  Square  near  the  Knightsbridge  Barracks. 

But  the  country  that  Dicky  came  to  was  a hard  land 
where  “ men  of  twenty-one  were  reckoned  very  small 
boys  indeed,  and  life  was  expensive.  The  salary  that 
loomed  so  large  six  thousand  miles  away  did  not  go  far. 
Particularly  when  Dicky  divided  it  by  two,  and  remitted 
more  than  the  fair  half,  at  1-6,  to  Montpelier  Square. 
One  hundred  and  thirty-five  rupees  out  of  three  hundred 
and  thirty  is  not  much  to  live  on  ; but  it  was  absurd  to 
suppose  that  Mrs.  Hatt  could  exist  forever  on  the  £20 
held  back  by  Dicky  from  his  outfit  allowance.  Dicky 
saw  this  and  remitted  at  once  ; always  remembering  that 
Rs.  700  were  to  be  paid,  twelve  months  later,  for  a first- 
class  passage  out  for  a lady.  When  you  add  to  these 
trifling  details  the  natural  instincts  of  a boy  beginning  a 
new  life  in  a new  country  and  longing  to  go  about  and 
enjoy  himself,  and  the  necessity  for  grappling  with  strange 


IN  THE  PRIDE  OF  HIS  YOUTH 


192 

work — which,  properly  speaking*,  should  take  up  a boy’s 
undivided  attention — you  will  see  that  Dicky  started  hand- 
icapped. He  saw  it  himself  for  a breath  or  two  ; but  he 
did  not  guess  the  full  beauty  of  his  future. 

As  the  hot  weather  began,  the  shackles  settled  on  him 
and  ate  into  his  flesh.  First  would  come  letters — big, 
crossed,  seven-sheet  letters — from  his  wife,  telling  him 
how  she  longed  to  see  him,  and  what  a Heaven  upon 
earth  would  be  their  property  when  they  met.  Then 
some  boy  of  the  chummery  wherein  Dicky  lodged  would 
pound  on  the  door  of  his  bare  little  room,  and  tell  him 
to  come  out  to  look  at  a pony — the  very  thing  to  suit 
him.  Dicky  could  not  afford  ponies.  He  had  to  ex- 
plain this.  Dicky  could  not  afford  living  in  the  chum- 
mery, modest  as  it  was.  He  had  to  explain  this  before 
he  moved  to  a single  room  next  the  office  where  he 
worked  all  day.  He  kept  house  on  a green  oil-cloth 
table-cover,  one  chair,  one  charpoy,  one  photograph,  one 
tooth-glass,  very  strong  and  thick,  a seven-rupee  eight- 
anna  filter,  and  messing  by  contract  at  thirty-seven  ru- 
pees a month.  Which  last  item  was  extortion.  He 
had  no  punkah,  for  a punkah  costs  fifteen  rupees  a 
month  ; but  he  slept  on  the  roof  of  the  office  with  all  his 
wife’s  letters  under  his  pillow.  Now  and  again  he  was 
asked  out  to  dinner  where  he  got  both  a punkah  and  an 
iced  drink.  But  this  was  seldom,  for  people  objected  to 
recognizing  a boy  who  had  evidently  the  instincts  of  a 
Scotch  tallow-chandler,  and  who  lived  in  such  a nasty 
fashion.  Dicky  could  not  subscribe  to  any  amusement, 
so  he  found  no  amusement  except  the  pleasure  of  turn- 
ing over  his  Bank-book  and  reading  what  it  said  about 
‘‘  loans  on  approved  security.”  That  cost  nothing.  He 
remitted  through  a Bombay  Bank,  by  the  way,  and  the 
Station  knew  nothing  of  his  private  affairs. 


IN  THE  PRIDE  OF  HIS  YOUTH 


i9i 

Every  month  he  sent  Home  all  he  could  possibly  spare 
for  his  wife and  for  another  reason  which  was  ex- 

pected to  explain  itself  shortly  and  would  require  more 
money. 

About  this  time,  Dicky  was  overtaken  with  the  nervous, 
haunting  fear  that  besets  married  men  when  they  are 
out  of  sorts.  He  had  no  pension  to  look  to.  What  if  he 
should  die  suddenly,  and  leave  his  wife  unprovided  for  } 
The  thought  used  to  lay  hold  of  him  in  the  still,  hot 
nights  on  the  roof,  till  the  shaking  of  his  heart  made 
him  think  that  he  was  going  to  die  then  and  there  of 
heart-disease.  Now  this  is  a frame  of  mind  which  no 
boy  has  a right  to  know.  It  is  a strong  man's  trouble  ; 
but,  coming  when  it  did,  it  nearly  drove  poor  punkah- 
less, perspiring  Dicky  Hatt  mad.  He  could  tell  no  one 
about  it. 

A certain  amount  of  ‘'screw"  is  as  necessary  for  a 
man  as  for  a billiard-ball.  It  makes  them  both  do  won- 
derful things.  Dicky  needed  money  badly,  and  he 
worked  for  it  like  a horse.  But,  naturally,  the  men  who 
owned  him  knew  that  a boy  can  live  very  comfortably 
on  a certain  income — pay  in  India  is  a matter  of  age 
not  merit,  you  see,  and,  if  their  particular  boy  wished  to 
work  like  two  boys.  Business  forbid  that  they  should  stop 
him  ! But  Business  forbid  that  they  should  give  him  an 
increase  of  pay  at  his  present  ridiculously  immature  age  ! 
So  Dicky  won  certain  rises  of  salary — ample  for  a boy — 
not  enough  for  a wife  and  a child — certainly  too  little  for 
the  seven-hundred-rupee  passage  that  he  and  Mrs.  Hatt 
had  discussed  so  lightly  once  upon  a time.  And  with 
this  he  was  forced  to  be  content. 

Somehow,  all  his  money  seemed  to  fade  away  in 
Home  drafts  and  the  crushing  Exchange,  and  the  tone 
of  the  Home  letters  changed  and  grew  querulous. 

13 


194  PRIDE  OF  HIS  YOUTH 

‘‘Why  wouldn't  Dicky  have  his  wife  and  the  baby  out  ? 
Surely  he  had  a salary — a fine  salary — ^and  it  was  too 
bad  of  him  to  enjoy  himself  in  India.  But  would  he — 
could  he — make  the  next  draft  a little  more  elastic  } ” 
Here  followed  a list  of  baby's  kit,  as  long  as  a Parsee’s 
bill.  Then  Dicky,  whose  heart  yearned  to  his  wife  and 
the  little  son  he  had  never  seen — which,  again,  is  a feel- 
ing no  boy  is  entitled  to — enlarged  the  draft  and  wrote 
queer  half-boy,  half-man  letters,  saying  that  life  was  not 
so  enjoyable  after  all  and  would  the  little  wife  wait  yet  a 
little  longer } But  the  little  wife,  however  much  she 
approved  of  money,  objected  to  waiting,  and  there  was 
a strange,  hard  sort  of  ring  in  her  letters  that  Dicky  didn't 
understand.  How  could  he,  poor  boy.? 

Later  on  still — just  as  Dicky  had  been  told — a propos 
of  another  youngster  who  had  “made  a fool  of  himself" 
as  the  saying  is — that  matrimony  would  not  only  ruin  his 
further  chances  of  advancement,  but  would  lose  him  his 
present  appointment — came  the  news  that  the  baby,  his 
own  little,  little  son,  had  died  and,  behind  this,  forty 
lines  of  an  angry  woman's  scrawl,  saying  the  death  might 
have  been  averted  if  certain  things,  all  costing  money, 
had  been  done,  or  if  the  mother  and  the  baby  had  been 
with  Dicky.  The  letter  struck  at  Dicky's  naked  heart  ; 
but,  not  being  officially  entitled  to  a baby,  he  could  show 
no  sign  of  trouble. 

How  Dicky  won  through  the  next  four  months,  and 
what  hope  he  kept  alight  to  force  him  into  his  work,  no 
one  dare  say.  He  pounded  on,  the  seven-hundred-rupee 
passage  as  far  away  as  ever,  and  his  style  of  living  un- 
changed, except  when  he  launched  into  a new  filter. 
There  was  the  strain  of  his  office- work,  and  the  strain  of 
his  remittances,  and  the  knowledge  of  his  boy's  death, 
which  touched  the  boy  more,  perhaps,  than  it  would  have 


IN  THE  PRIDE  OF  HIS  YOUTH 


195 


touched  a man  ; and,  beyond  all,  the  enduring  strain  of 
his  daily  life.  Gray-headed  seniors  who  approved  of  his 
thrift  and  his  fashion  of  denying  himself  everything 
pleasant,  reminded  him  of  the  old  saw  that  says  : — 

“If  a youth  would  be  distinguished  in  his  art,  art,  art, 

“ He  must  keep  the  girls  away  from  his  heart,  heart,  heart. 

And  Dicky,  who  fancied  he  had  been  through  every 
trouble  that  a man  is  permitted  to  know,  had  to  laugh 
and  agree  ; with  the  last  line  of  his  balanced  Bank  book 
jingling  in  his  head  day  and  night. 

But  he  had  one  more  sorrow  to  digest  before  the  end. 
There  arrived  a letter  from  the  little  wife — the  natural 
sequence  of  the  others  if  Dicky  had  only  known  it — and 
the  burden  of  that  letter  was  ‘'gone  with  a handsomer 
man  than  you.''  It  was  a rather  curious  production, 
without  stops,  something  like  this  : — “She  was  not  going 
to  wait  forever  and  the  baby  was  dead  and  Dicky  was 
only  a boy  and  he  would  never  set  eyes  on  her  again  and 
why  hadn't  he  waved  his  handkerchief  to  her  when  he 
left  Gravesend  and  God  was  her  judge  she  was  a wicked 
woman  but  Dicky  was  worse  enjoying  himself  in  India 
and  this  other  man  loved  the  ground  she  trod  on  and 
would  Dicky  ever  forgive  her  for  she  would  never  forgive 
Dicky  ; and  there  was  no  address  to  write  to." 

Instead  of  thanking  his  stars  that  he  was  free,  Dicky 
discovered  exactly  how  an  injured  husband  feels — again, 
not  at  all  the  knowledge  to  which  a boy  is  entitled — for 
his  mind  went  back  to  his  wife  as  he  remembered  her  in 
the  thirty-shilling  “suite  "in  Montpelier  Square,  when 
the  dawn  of  his  last  morning  in  England  was  breaking, 
and  she  was  crying  in  the  bed.  Whereat  he  rolled  about 
on  his  bed  and  bit  his  fingers.  He  never  stopped  to  think 
whether,  if  he  had  met  Mrs.  Hatt  after  those  two  years, 
he  would  have  discovered  that  he  and  she  had  grown 


196  IN'  THE  PRIDE  OF  HIS  YOUTH 

quite  different  and  new  persons.  This,  theoretically,  he 
ought  to  have  done.  He  spent  the  night  after  the  Eng- 
lish Mail  came  in  rather  severe  pain. 

Next  morning,  Dicky  Hatt  felt  disinclined  to  work. 
He  •argued  that  he  had  missed  the  pleasure  of  youth. 
He  was  tired,  and  he  had  tasted  all  the  sorrow  in  life 
before  three  and  twenty.  His  Honor  was  gone — that 
was  the  man  ; and  now  he,  too,  would  go  to  the  Devil — • 
that  was  the  boy  in  him.  So  he  put  his  head  down  on 
the  green  oil-cloth  table-cover,  and  wept  before  resigning 
his  post,  and  all  it  offered. 

But  the  reward  of  his  services  came.  He  was  given 
three  days  to  reconsider  himself,  and  the  Head  of  the 
establishment,  after  some  telegraphings,  said  that  it  was 
a most  unusual  step,  but,,  in  view  of  the  ability  that  Mr. 
Hatt  had  displayed  at  such  and  such  a time,  at  such  and 
such  junctures,  he  was  in  a position  to  offer  him  an  infi- 
nitely superior  post — first  on  probation,  and  later,  in  the 
natural  course  of  things,  on  confirmation.  ‘‘And  how 
much  does  the  post  carry  said  Dicky.  “ Six  hundred 
and  fifty  rupees,''  said  the  Head  slowly,  expecting  to  see 
the  young  man  sink  with  gratitude  and  joy. 

And  it  came  then  ! The  seven  hundred  rupee  passage, 
and  enough  to  have  saved  the  wife,  and  the  little  son, 
and  to  have  allowed  of  assured  and  open  marriage,  came 
then.  Dicky  burst  into  a roar  of  laughter — laughter  he 
could  not  check — nasty,  jangling  merriment  that  seemed 
as  if  it  would  go  on  forever.  When  he  had  recovered 
himself  he  said,  quite  seriously: — “I'm  tired  of  work. 
I'm  an  old  man  now.  It's  about  time  I retired.  And  I 
will." 

“The  boy's  mad  ! " said  the  Head. 

I think  he  was  right ; but  Dicky  Hatt  never  reappeared 
to  settle  the  question. 


PIG. 


197 


PIG. 

Go,  stalk  the  red  deer  o’er  the  heather 
Ride,  follow  the  fox  if  you  can  ! 

But,  for  pleasure  and  profit  together. 

Allow  me  the  hunting  of  Man, — 

The  chase  of  the  Human,  the  search  for  the  Soul 
To  its  ruin, — the  hunting  of  Man. 

The  Old  Shikarri, 

I BELIEVE  the  difference  began  in  the  matter  of  a horse, 
with  a twist  in  his  temper,  whom  Pinecoffin  sold  to  Naffer- 
ton  and  by  whom  Nafferton  was  nearly  slain.  There 
may  have  been  other  causes  of  offence ; the  horse  was 
the  official  stalking-horse.  Nafferton  was  very  angry  ; 
but  Pinecoffin  laughed  and  said  that  he  had  never 
guaranteed  the  beast's  manners.  Nafferton  laughed, 
too,  though  he  vowed  that  he  would  write  off  his  fall 
against  Pinecoffin  if  he  waited  five  years.  Now,  a 
Dalesman  from  beyond  Skipton  will  forgive  an  injury 
when  the  Strid  lets  a man  live  ; but  a South  Devon  man 
is  as  soft  as  a Dartmoor  bog.  You  can  see  from  their 
names  that  Nafferton  had  the  race-advantage  of  Pine- 
coffin. He  was  a peculiar  man,  and  his  notions  of 
humor  were  cruel.  He  taught  me  a new  and  fascinat- 
ing form  of  shikar.  He  hounded  Pinecoffin  from 
Mithankot  to  Jagadri,  and  from  Gurgaon  to  Abbottabad 
— up  and  across  the  Punjab,  ’a  large  Province  and  in 
places  remarkably  dry.  He  said  that  he  had  no  intention 
of  allowing  Assistant  Commissioners  to  ‘‘sell  him  pups/’ 


PIG. 


198 

in  the  shape  of  ramping,  screaming  countrybreds,  with- 
out making  their  lives  a burden  to  them. 

Most  Assistant  Commissioners  develop  a bent  for  some 
special  work  after  their  first  hot  weather  in  the  country. 
The  boys  with  digestions  hope  to  write  their  names  large 
on  the  Frontier,  and  struggle  for  dreary  places  like  Bannu 
and  Kohat.  The  bilious  ones  climb  into  the  Secretariat. 
Which  is  very  bad  for  the  liver.  Others  are  bitten  with  a 
mania  for  District  work,  Ghuznivide  coins  or  Persian 
poetry;  while  some,  who  come  of  farmers’  stock,  find 
that  the  smell  of  the  Earth  after  the  Rains  gets  into  their 
blood,  and  calls  them  to  ‘‘develop  the  resources  of  the 
Province.”  These  men  are  enthusiasts.  Pinecoffin  be- 
longed to  their  class.  He  knew  a great  many  facts  bear- 
ing on  the  cost  of  bullocks  and  temporary  wells,  and 
opium-scrapers,  and  what  happens  if  you  burn  too  much 
rubbish  on  a field,  in  the  hope  of  enriching  used-up  soil. 
All  the  Pinecofhns  come  of  a landholding  breed,  and  so 
the  land  only  took  back  her  own  again.  Unfortunately 
— most  unfortunately  for  Pinecoffin — he  was  a Civilian,  as 
well  as  a farmer.  Nafferton  watched  him,  and  thought 
about  the  horse.  Nafferton  said  : — =‘‘  See  me  chase  that 
boy  till  he  drops!”  I said: — “You  can’t  get  your  knife 
into  an  Assistant  Commissioner.”  Nafferton  told  me  that 
I did  not  understand  the  administration  of  the  Province. 

Our  Government  is  rather  peculiar.  It  gushes  on  the 
agricultural  and  general  information  side,  and  will  supply 
a moderately  respectable  man  with  all  sorts  of  “econo- 
mic statistics,”  if  he  speaks  to  it  prettily.  For  instance, 
you  are  interested  in  gold-washing  in  the  sands  of  the 
Sutlej.  You  pull  the  string,  and  find  that  it  wakes  up  half 
a dozen  Departments,  and  finally  communicates,  say,  with 
a friend  of  yours  in  the  Telegraph,  who  once  wrote  some 
notes  on  the  customs  of  the  gold-washers  when  he  was 


PIG. 


199 


on  construction-work  in  their  part  of  the  Empire.  He 
may  or  may  not  be  pleased  at  being  ordered  to  write  out 
everything  he  knows  for  your  benefit.  This  depends  on 
his  temperament.  The  bigger  man  you  are,  the  more 
information  and  the  greater  trouble  can  you  raise. 

Nafferton  was  not  a big  man  ; but  he  had  the  reputa- 
tion of  being  very  ‘‘earnest.''  An  “earnest"  man  can 
do  much  with  a Government.  There  was  an  earnest 
man  once  who  nearly  wrecked.  . . but  all  India 

knows  that  sioxj.  I am  not  sure  what  real  “earnest- 
ness" is.  A very  fair  imitation  can  be  manufactured  by 
neglecting  to  dress  decently,  by  mooning  about  in  a 
dreamy,  misty  sort  of  way,  by  taking  office-work  home 
after  staying  in  office  till  seven,  and  by  receiving  crowds 
of  native  gentleman  on  Sundays.  That  is  one  sort  of 
“ earnestness." 

Nafferton  cast  about  for  a peg  whereon  to  hang  his 
earnestness,  and  for  a string  that  would  communicate 
with  Pinecoffin.  He  found  both.  They  were  Pig. 
Nafferton  became  an  earnest  inquirer  after  Pig.  He 
informed  the  Government  that  he  had  a scheme  whereby 
a very  large  percentage  of  the  British  Army  in  India 
could  be  fed,  at  a very  large  saving,  on  Pig.  Then  he 
hinted  that  Pinecoffin  might  supply  him  with  the  “varied 
information  necessary  to  the  proper  inception  of  the 
scheme."  So  the  Government  wrote  on  the  back  of  the 
letter  : — “Instruct  Mr.  Pinecoffin  to  furnish  Mr.  Nafferton 
with  any  information  in  his  power."  Government  is  very 
prone  to  writing  things  on  the  backs  of  letters  which, 
later,  lead  to  trouble  and  confusion. 

Nafferton  had  not  the  faintest  interest  in  Pig,  but  he 
knew  that  Pinecoffin  would  flounce  into  the  trap.  Pine- 
coffin was  delighted  at  being  consulted  about  Pig.  The 
Indian  Pig  is  not  exactly  an  important  factor  in  agri- 


200 


PIG. 


cultural  life;  but  Nafferton  explained  to  Pinecoffin  that 
there  was  room  for  improvement,  and  corresponded 
direct  with  that  young  man. 

You  may  think  that  there  is  not  much  to  be  evolved 
from  Pig.  It  all  depends  how  you  set  to  work.  Pine- 
coffin  being  a Civilian  and  wishing  to  do  things  thoroughly, 
began  with  an  essay  on  the  Primitive  Pig,  the  Mythology 
of  the  Pig,  and  the  Dravidian  Pig.  Nafferton  filed  that 
information — twenty-seven  foolscap  sheets — and  wanted 
to  know  about  the  distribution  of  the  Pig  in  the  Punjab, 
and  how  it  stood  the  Plains  in  the  hot  weather.  From 
this  point  onwards,  remember  that  I am  giving  you  only 
the  barest  outlines  of  the  affair — the  guy-ropes,  as  it  were, 
of  the  web  that  Nafferton  spun  round  Pinecoffin. 

Pinecoffin  made  a colored  Pig-population  map,  and  col- 
lected observations  on  the  comparative  longevity  of  Pig 
(a)  in  the  sub-montane  tracts  of  the  Himalayas,  and  (b)  in 
the  Rechna  Doab.  Nafferton  filed  that,  and  asked  what 
sort  of  people  looked  after  Pig.  This  started  an  ethno- 
logical excursus  on  swineherds,  and  drew  from  Pinecoffin 
long  tables  showing  the  proportion  per  thousand  of  the 
caste  in  the  Deraj  at.  Nafferton  filed  that  bundle,  and  ex- 
plained that  the  figures  which  he  wanted  referred  to  the 
Cis-Sutlej  states,  where  he  understood  that  Pigs  were  very 
fine  and  large,  and  where  he  proposed  to  start  a Piggery. 
By  this  time.  Government  had  quite  forgotten  their  in- 
structions to  Mr.  Pinecoffin.  They  were  like  the  gentle- 
men, in  Keats  poem,  who  turned  well-oiled  wheels  to 
skin  other  people.  But  Pinecoffin  was  just  entering  into 
the  spirit  of  the  Pig-hunt,  as  Nafferton  well  knew  he 
would  do.  He  had  a fair  amount  of  work  of  his  own  to 
clear  away;  but  he  sat  up  of  nights  reducing  Pig  to  five 
places  of  decimals  for  the  honor  of  his  Service.  He  was 
not  going  to  appear  ignorant  of  so  easy  a subject  as  Pig. 


PIG. 


201 


Then  Government  sent  him  on  special  duty  to  Kohat, 
to  ‘inquire  into''  the  big-,  seven-foot,  iron-shod  spades  of 
that  District.  People  had  been  killing  each  other  with 
those  peaceful  tools;  and  Government  wished  to  know 
''  whether  a modified  form  of  agricultural  implement 
could  not,  tentatively  and  as  a temporary  measure,  be 
introduced  among  the  agricultural  population  without 
needlessly  or  unduly  exacerbating  the  existing  religious 
sentiments  of  the  peasantry." 

Between  those  spades  and  Nafferton's  Pig,  Pinecoffin 
was  rather  heavily  burdened. 

Nafferton  now  began  to  take  up  ''(a)  The  food-supply 
of  the  indigenous  Pig,  with  a view  to  the  improvement 
of  its  capacities  as  a flesh-former,  (h)  The  acclimatiza- 
tion of  the  exotic  Pig,  maintaining  its  distinctive  peculi- 
arities." Pinecoffin  replied  exhaustively  that  the  exotic 
Pig  would  become  merged  in  the  indigenous  type  ; and 
quoted  horse-breeding  statistics  to  prove  this.  The  side- 
issue  was  debated,  at  great  length  on  Pinecoflin's  side, 
till  Nafferton  owned  that  he  had  been  in  the  wrong,  and 
moved  the  previous  question.  When  Pinecoffin  had 
quite  written  himself  out  about  flesh-formers,  and  fibrins, 
and  glucose  and  the  nitrogenous  constituents  of  maize 
and  lucerne,  Nafferton  raised  the  question  of  expense. 
By  this  time  Pinecoffin,  who  had  been  transferred  from 
Kohat,  had  developed  a Pig  theory  of  his  own,  which 
he  stated  in  thirty-three  folio  pages — all  carefully  filed 
by  Nafferton.  Who  asked  for  more. 

These  things  took  ten  months,  and  Pinecoflin's  interest 
in  the  potential  Piggery  seemed  to  die  down  after  he 
had  stated  his  own  views.  But  Nafferton  bombard- 
ed him  with  letters  on  the  Imperial  aspect  of  the 
scheme,  as  tending  to  officialize  the  sale  of  pork,  and 
thereby  calculated  to  give  offence  to  the  Mahomedan 


202 


PIG. 


population  of  Upper  India.”  He  guessed  that  Pine- 
coffin  would  want  some  broad,  free-hand  work  after  his 
niggling,  stippling,  decimal  details.  Pinecoffin  handled 
the  latest  development  of  the  case  in  masterly  style,  and 
proved  that  no  ‘‘popular  ebullition  of  excitement  was  to 
be  apprehended.  Nafferton  said  that  there  was  nothing 
like  Civilian  insight  in  matters  of  this  kind,  and  lured  him 
up  a bye-path — “the  possible  profits  to  accrue  to  the 
Government  from  the  sale  of  hog-bristles.”  There  is  an 
extensive  literature  of  hog-bristles,  and  the  shoe,  brush, 
and  colorman’s  trades  recognize  more  varieties  of  bristles 
than  you  would  think  possible.  After  Pinecoffin  had 
wondered  a little  at  Nafferton's  rage  for  information,  he 
sent  back  a monograph,  fifty-one  pages,  on  “Products 
of  the  Pig.”  This  led  him,  under  Nafferton's  tender  hand- 
ling, straight  to  the  Cawnpore  factories,  the  trade  in  hog- 
skin  for  saddles — and  thence  to  the  tanners.  Pinecoffin 
wrote  that  pomegranate-seed  was  the  best  cure  for  hog- 
skin,  and  suggested — for  the  past  fourteen  months  had 
wearied  him — that  Nafferton  should  “ raise  his  pigs  before 
he  tanned  them.” 

Nafferton  went  back  to  the  second  section  of  his  fifth 
question.  How  could  the  exotic  Pig  be  brought  to  give 
as  much  pork  as  it  did  in  the  West  and  yet  “ assume  the 
essentially  hirsute  characteristics  of  its  oriental  conge- 
ner .?  Pinecoffin  felt  dazed,  for  he  had  forgotten  what 
he  had  written  sixteen  months  before,  and  fancied  that 
he  was  about  to  reopen  the  entire  question.  He  was 
too  far  involved  in  the  hideous  tangle  to  retreat,  and,  in 
a weak  moment,  he  wrote  : — “Consult  my  first  letter.'' 
Which  related  to  the  Dravidian  Pig.  As  a matter  of  fact, 
Pinecoffin  had  still  to  reach  the  acclimatization  stage  ; 
having  gone  off  on  a side-issue  on  the  merging  of  types. 

Then  Nafferton  reall}^  unmasked  his  batteries  ! He 


PIG. 


203 


complained  to  the  Government,  in  stately  language,  of 
‘‘the  paucity  of  help  accorded  to  me  in  my  earnest  at- 
tempts to  start  a potentially  remunerative  industry,  and 
the  flippancy  with  which  my  requests  for  information 
are  treated  by’  a gentleman  whose  pseudo-scholarly  at- 
tainments should  at  least  have  taught  him  the  primary 
differences  between  the  Dravidian  and  the  Berkshire 
variety  of  the  genus  Sus,  If  I am  to  understand  that  the 
letter  to  which  he  refers  me  contains  his  serious  views 
on  the  acclimatization  of  a valuable,  though  possibly 
uncleanly,  animal,  I am  reluctantly  compelled  to  be- 
lieve,'" &c.,  &c. 

There  was  a new  man  at  the  head  of  the  Department 
of  Castigation.  The  wretched  Pinecoffin  was  told  that 
the  Service  was  made  for  the  Country,  and  not  the  Coun- 
try for  the  Service,  and  that  he  had  better  begin  to  supply 
information  about  Pigs. 

Pinecoffin  answered  insanely  that  he  had  written 
everything  that  could  be  written  about  Pig,  and  that 
some  furlough  was  due  to  him. 

Nafferton  got  a copy  of  that  letter,  and  sent  it,  with  the 
essay  on  the  Dravidian  Pig,  to  a down-country  paper 
which  printed  both  in  full.  The  essay  was  rather  high- 
flown  ; but  if  the  Editor  had  seen  the  stacks  of  paper,  in 
Pinecoffin's  handwriting,  on  Nafferton's  table,  he  would 
not  have  been  so  sarcastic  about  the  “nebulous  discur- 
siveness and  blatant  self-sufficiency  of  the  modern  Com- 
^^WWow-wallah,  and  his  utter  inability  to  grasp  the  practi- 
cal issues  of  a practical  question."  Many  friends  cut  out 
these  remarks  and  sent  them  to  Pinecoffin. 

I have  already  stated  that  Pinecoffin  came  of  a soft 
stock.  This  last  stroke  frightened  and  shook  him.  He 
could  not  understand  it ; but  he  felt  that  he  had  been, 
somehow,  shamelessly  betrayed  by  Nafferton.  He  real- 


204 


PIG. 


ized  that  he  had  wrapped  himself  up  in  the  Pigskin  with- 
out need,  and  that  he  could  not  well  set  himself  right 
with  his  Government.  All  his  acquaintances  asked  after 
his  ‘'nebulous  discursiveness''  or  his  “ blatant  self-suffi- 
ciency," and  this  made  him  miserable. 

He  took  a train  and  went  to  Nafferton  whom  he  had 
not  seen  since  the  Pig  business  began.  He  also  took  the 
cutting  from  the  paper,  and  blustered  feebly  and  called 
Nafferton  names,  and  then  died  down  to  a watery,  weak 
protest  of  the  “ I-say-it's-too-bad-you-know"  order. 

Nafferton  was  very  sympathetic. 

“I'm  afraid  I've  given  you  a good  deal  of  trouble, 
haven't  I " said  he. 

“Trouble!"  whimpered  Pinecoffin  ; I don't  mind  the 
trouble  so  much,  though  that  was  bad  enough  ; but  what 
I resent  is  this  showing  up  in  print.  It  will  stick  to  me 
like  a burr  all  through  my  service.  And  I did  do  my 
best  for  your  interminable  swine.  It's  too  bad  of  you,  on 
my  soul  it  is  } " 

“ I don't  know, " said  Nafferton  ; “ Have  you  ever  been 
stuck  with  a horse  It  isn't  the  money  I mind,  though 
that  is  bad  enough ; but  what  I resent  is  the  chaff  that 
follows,  especially  from  the  boy  who  stuck  me.  But  I 
think  we'll  cry  quits  now." 

Pinecoffin  found  nothing  to  say  save  bad  words ; and 
Nafferton  smiled  ever  so  sweetly,  and  asked  him  to 
dinner. 


THE  ROUT  OF  THE  WHITE  HUSSARS. 


205 


THE  ROUT  OF  THE  WHITE  HUSSARS. 

It  was  not  in  the  open  fight 
We  threw  away  the  sword, 

But  in  the  lonely  watching 
In  the  darkness  by  the  ford. 

The  waters  lapped,  the  night- v/ind  blew. 

Full-armed  the  Fear  was  born  and  grew. 

And  we  were  flying  ere  we  knew 
From  panic  in  the  night. 

Beoni  Bar, 

Some  people  hold  that  an  English  Cavalry  regiment 
cannot  run.  This  is  a mistake.  I have  seen  four  hun- 
dred and  thirty-seven  sabres  flying  over  the  face  of  the 
country  in  abject  terror — have  seen  the  best  Regiment 
that  ever  drew  bridle,  wiped  off  the  Army  List  for  the 
space  of  two  hours.  If  you  repeat  this  tale  to  the  White 
Hussars  they  will,  in  all  probability,  treat  you  severely. 
They  are  not  proud  of  the  incident. 

You  may  know  the  White  Hussars  by  their  ^'side'' 
which  is  greater  than  that  of  all  the  Cavalry  Regiments 
on  the  roster.  If  this  is  not  a sufficient  mark,  you  may 
know  them  by  their  old  brandy.  It  has  been  sixty  years 
in  the  Mess  and  is  worth  going  far  to  taste.  Ask  for  the 

McGaire'' old  brandy,  and  see  that  yoii  get  it.  If  the 
Mess  Sergeant  thinks  that  you  are  uneducated,  and  that 
the  genuine  article  will  be  lost  on  you,  he  will  treat  you 
accordingly.  He  is  a good  man.  But,  when  you  are  at 
Mess,  you  must  never  talk  to  your  hosts  about  forced 
marches  or  long-distance  rides.  The  Mess  are  very  sen- 


2o6  the  rout  of  the  white  hussars. 

sitive  ; and,  if  they  think  that  you  are  laughing  at  them, 

^ dll  tell  you  so. 

As  the  White  Hussars  say,  it  was  all  the  Coloners  fault. 
He  was  anew  man,  and  he  ought  never  to  have  taken  the 
Command.  He  said  that  the  Regiment  was  not  smart 
enough.  This  to  the  White  Hussars,  who  knew  they 
could  walk  round  any  Horse  and  through  any  Guns,  and 
over  any  Foot  on  the  face  of  the  earth ! That  insult  was 
the  first  cause  of  offence. 

Then  the  Colonel  cast  the  Drum-Horse — the  Drum- 
Horse  of  the  White  Hussars  ! Perhaps  you  do  not  see 
what  an  unspeakable  crime  he  had  committed.  I will 
try  to  make  it  clear.  The  soul  of  the  Regiment  lives 
in  the  Drum-Horse  who  carries  the  silver  kettle-drums. 
He  is  nearly  always  a big  piebald  Waler.  That  is  a 
point  of  honor  ; and  a Regiment  will  spend  anything 
you  please  on  a piebald.  He  is  beyond  the  ordinary 
laws  of  casting.  His  work  is  very  light,  and  he  only 
manoeuvres  at  a foot-pace.  Wherefore,  so  long  as  he 
can  step  out  and  look  handsome,  his  well-being  is  as- 
sured. He  knows  more  about  the  Regiment  than  the 
Adjutant,  and  could  not  make  a mistake  if  he  tried. 

The  Drum-Horse  of  the  White  Hussars  was  only 
eighteen  years  old,  and  perfectly  equal  to  his  duties.  He 
had  at  least  six  years'  more  work  in  him,  and  carried 
himself  with  all  the  pomp  and  dignity  of  a Drum-Major 
of  the  Guards.  The  Regiment  had  paid  Rs.  i,  200  for 
him. 

But  the  Colonel  said  that  he  must  go,  and  he  was  cast 
in  due  form  and  replaced  by  a washy,  bay  beast,  as 
ugly  as  a mule,  with  a ewe-neck,  rat-tail,  and  cow-hocks. 
The  Drummer  detested  that  animal,  and  the  best  of 
the  Band-horses  put  back  their  ears  and  showed  the 
whites  of  their  eyes  at  the  very  sight  of  him.  They 


THE  ROUT  OF  THE  WHITE  HUSSARS. 


207 


knew  him  for  an  upstart  and  no  gentleman.  I fancy 
that  the  Colonels  ideas  of  smartness  extended  to  the 
Band,  and  that  he  wanted  to  make  it  take  part  in 
the  regular  parade  movements.  A Cavalry  Band  is  a 
sacred  thing.  It  only  turns  out  for  Commanding  Officers' 
parades,  and  the  Band  Master  is  one  degree  more 
important  than  the  Colonel.  He  is  a High  Priest  and 
the  Keel  Row  " is  his  holy  song.  The  ‘‘  Keel  Kow  ” 
is  the  Cavalry  Trot ; and  the  man  who  has  never  heard 
that  tune  rising,  high  and  shrill,  above  the  rattle  of  the 
Regiment  going  past  the  saluting-base,  has  something 
yet  to  hear  and  understand. 

When  the  Colonel  cast  the  Drum-Horse  of  the  White 
Hussars,  there  was  nearly  a mutiny. 

The  officers  were  angry,  the  Regiment  were  furious, 
and  the  Bandsmen  swore — like  troopers.  The  Drum- 
Horse  was  going  to  be  put  up  to  auction — public  auction 
— to  be  bought,  perhaps,  by  a Parsee  and  put  into  a 
cart ! It  was  worse  than  exposing  the  inner  life  of  the 
Regiment  to  the  whole  world,  or  selling  the  Mess  Plate 
to  a Jew — a black  Jew. 

The  Colonel  was  a mean  man  and  a bully.  He  knew 
what  the  Regiment  thought  about  his  action  ; and, 
when  the  troopers  offered  to  buy  the  Drum-Horse,  he 
said  that  their  offer  was  mutinous  and  forbidden  by  the 
Regulations. 

But  one  of  the  Subalterns — Hogan-Yale,  an  Irishman 
— bought  the  Drum-Horse  for  Rs.  160  at  the  sale ; and 
the  Colonel  was  wroth.  Yale  professed  repentance — 
he  was  unnaturally  submissive — and  said  that,  as  he 
had  only  made  the  purchase  to  save  the  horse  from 
possible  ill-treatment  and  starvation,  he  would  now 
shoot  him  and  end  the  business.  This  appealed  to 
soothe  the  Colonel,  for  he  wanted  the  Drum-Hors^ 


2o8 


THE  ROUT  OF  THE  WHITE  HUSSARS. 


disposed  of.  He  felt  that  he  had  made  a mistake,  and 
could  not  of  course  acknowledge  it  Meantime,  the 
presence  of  the  Drum-Horse  was  an  annoyance  to  him. 

Yale  took  to  himself  a glass  of  the  old  brandy,  three 
cheroots,  and  his  friend,  Martyn  ; and  they  all  left  the 
Mess  together.  Yale  and  Martyn  conferred  for  two 
hours  in  Yale’s  quarters  ; but  only  the  bull-terrier  who 
keeps  watch  over  Yale’s  boot-trees  knows  what  they 
said.  A horse,  hooded  and  sheeted  to  his  ears,  left 
Yale’s  stables  and  was  taken,  very  unwillingly,  into  the 
Civil  Lines.  Yale’s  groom  went  with  him.  Two  men 
broke  into  the  Regimental  Theatre  and  took  several 
paint-pots  and  some  large  scenery  brushes.  Then  night 
fell  over  the  Cantonments,  and  there  was  a noise  as  of 
a horse  kicking  his  loose-box  to  pieces  in  Yale’s  stables. 
Yale  had  a big,  old,  white  Waler  trap-horse. 

The  next  day  was  a Thursday,  and  the  men,  hearing 
that  Yale  was  going  to  shoot  the  Drum-Horse  in  the 
evening,  determined  to  give  the  beast  a regular  regi- 
mental funeral — a finer  one  than  they  would  have  given 
the  Colonel  had  he  died  just  then.  They  got  a bullock- 
cart  and  some  sacking,  and  mounds  and  mounds  of 
roses,  and  the  body,  under  sacking,  was  carried  out  to 
the  place  where  the  anthrax  cases  were  cremated ; two- 
thirds  of  the  Regiment  following.  There  was  no  Band, 
but  they  all  sang  ‘‘  The  Place  where  the  old  Horse  died'' 
as  something  respectful  and  appropriate  to  the  occasion. 
When  the  corpse  was  dumped  into  the  grave  and  the  men 
began  throwing  down  armfuls  of  roses  to  cover  it,  the 
Farrier-Sergeant  ripped  out  an  oath  and  said  aloud: — 
“ Why,  it  aint  the  Drum-Horse  any  more  than  it’s  me  ! ” 
The  Troop-Sergeant-Majors  asked  him  whether  he  had  left 
his  head  in  the  Canteen.  The  Farrier-Sergeant  said  that  he 
knew  the  Drum-Horse’s  feet  as  well  as  he  knew  his  own  ; 


THE  ROUT  OF  THE  WHITE  HUSSARS. 


209 

but  he  was  silenced  when  he  saw  the  regimental  number 
burnt  in  on  the  poor  stiff,  upturned  near-fore. 

Thus  was  the  Drum-Horse  of  the  White  Hussars  buried ; 
the  Farrier-Sergeant  grumbling.  The  sacking  that  cover- 
ed the  corpse  was  smeared  in  places  with  black  paint ; 
and  the  Farrier-Sergeant  drew  attention  to  this  fact.  But 
the  Troop-Sergeant-Major  of  E Troop  kicked  him  severely 
on  the  shin,  and  told  him  that  he  was  undoubtedly  drunk. 

On  the  Monday  following  the  burial,  the  Colonel  sought 
revenge  on  the  White  Hussars.  Unfortunately,  being  at 
that  time  temporarily  in  Command  of  the  Station,  he  or- 
dered a Brigade  field-day.  He  said  that  he  wished  to 
make  the  regiment  sweat  for  their  damned  insolence,"' 
and  he  carried  out  his  notion  thoroughly.  That  Monday 
was  one  of  the  hardest  days  in  the  memory  of  the  White 
Hussars.  They  were  thrown  against  a skeleton-enemy, 
and  pushed  forward,  and  withdrawn,  and  dismounted, 
and  ‘‘scientifically  handled  " in  every  possible  fashion 
over  dusty  country,  till  they  sweated  profusely.  Their 
only  amusement  came  late  in  the  day  when  they  fell  upon 
the  battery  of  Horse  Artillery  and  chased  it  for  two  miles. 
This  was  a personal  question,  and  most  of  the  troopers 
had  money  on  the  event ; the  Gunners  saying  openly  that 
they  had  the  legs  of  the  White  Hussars.  They  were 
wrong.  A march-past  concluded  the  campaign,  and 
when  the  Regiment  got  back  to  their  Lines,  the  men  were 
coated  with  dirt  from  spur  to  chin-strap. 

The  White  Hussars  have,  one  great  and  peculiar  priv- 
ilege. They  won  it  at  Fontenoy,  I think. 

Many  Regiments  possess  special  rights  such  as  wear- 
ing collars  with  undress  uniform,  or  a bow  of  ribbon  be- 
tween the  shoulders,  or  red  and  white  roses  in  their 
helmets  on  certain  days  of  the  year.  Some  rights  are 
connected  with  regimental  saints,  and  some  with  regi- 

14 


210 


THE  ROUT  OF  THE  WHITE  HUSSARS. 


mental  successes.  All  are  valued  highly  ; but  none  so 
highly  as  the  right  of  the  White  Hussars  to  have  the  Band 
playing  when  their  horses  are  being  watered  in  the  Lines. 
Only  one  tune  is  played,  and  that  tune  never  varies.  I 
don't  know  its  real  name,  but  the  White  Hussars  call  it  : — 

Take  me  to  London  againT  It  sounds  very  pretty.  The 
Regiment  would  sooner  be  struck  off  the  roster  than  fore- 
go their  distinction. 

After  the  '‘dismiss"  was  sounded,  the  officers  rode 
off  home  to  prepare  for  stables ; and  the  men  filed 
into  the  lines,  riding  easy.  That  is  to  say,  they 
opened  their  tight  buttons,  shifted  their  helmets,  and 
began  to  joke  or  to  swear  as  the  humor  took  them  ; the 
more  careful  slipping  off  and  easing  girths  and  curbs.  A 
good  trooper  values  his  mount  exactly  as  much  as  he 
values  himself,  and  believes,  or  should  believe,  that  the 
two  together  are  irresistible  where  women  or  men,  girls 
or  guns,  are  concerned. 

Then  the  Orderly-Officer  gave  the  order  : — '’Water 
horses,"  and  the  Regiment  loafed  off  to  the  squadron- 
troughs  which  were  in  rear  of  the  stables  and  between 
these  and  the  barracks.  There  were  four  huge  troughs, 
one  for  each  squadron,  arranged  en  echelon^  so  that  the 
whole  Regiment  could  water  in  ten  minutes  if  it  liked. 
But  it  lingered  for  seventeen,  as  a rule,  while  the  Band 
played. 

The  Band  struck  up  as  the  squadrons  filed  off  the 
troughs,  and  the  men  slipped  their  feet  out  of  the  stirrups 
and  chaffed  each  other.  The  sun  was  just  setting  in  a 
big,  hot  bed  of  red  cloud,  and  the  road  to  the  Civil  Lines 
seemed  to  run  straight  into  the  sun's  eye.  There  was  a 
little  dot  on  the  road.  It  grew  and  grew  till  it  showed  as 
a horse,  with  a sort  of  gridiron  thing  on  his  back.  The 
red  cloud  glared  through  the  bars  of  the  gridiro-n.  Some 


THE  ROUT  OF  THE  WHITE  HUSSARS. 


211 


of  the  troopers  shaded  their  eyes  with  their  hands  and 
said: — '‘What  the  mischief  'as  that  there  'orse  got  on 
'im  ! " 

In  another  minute  they  heard  a neigh  that  every  soul 
— horse  and  man — in  the  Regiment  knew,  and  saw,  head- 
ing straight  towards  the  Band,  the  dead  Drum-Horse  of 
the  White  Hussars  ! 

On  his  withers  banged  and  bumped  the  kettle-drums 
draped  in  crape,  and  on  his  back,  very  stiff  and  soldierly, 
sat  a bare-headed  skeleton. 

The  band  stopped  playing,  and,  for  a moment,  there 
was  a hush. 

Then  some  one  in  E troop — men  said  it  was  the  Troop- 
Sergeant-Major — swung  his  horse  round  and  yelled.  No 
one  can  account  exactly  for  what  happened  afterwards  ; 
but  it  seems  that,  at  least,  one  man  in  each  troop  set  an 
example  of  panic,  and  the  rest  followed  like  sheep.  The 
horses  that  had  barely  put  their  muzzles  into  the  troughs 
reared  and  capered  ; but,  as  soon  as  the  Band  broke, 
which  it  did  when  the  ghost  of  the  Drum-Horse  was  about 
a furlong  distant,  all  hooves  followed  suit,  and  the  clatter 
of  the  stampede — quite  different  from  the  orderly  throb 
and  roar  of  a movement  on  parade,  or  the  rough  horse- 
play of  watering  in  camp — made  them  only  more  terri- 
fied. They  felt  that  the  men  on  their  backs  were  afraid 
of  something.  When  horses  once  know  that,  all  is  over 
except  the  butchery. 

Troop  after  troop  turned  from  the  troughs  and  ran — 
anywhere  and  everywhere  — like  spilt  quicksilver.  It 
was  a most  extraordinary  spectacle,  for  men  and  horses 
were  in  all  stages  of  easiness,  and  the  carbine-buckets 
flopping  against  their  sides  urged  the  horses  on.  Men 
were  shouting  and  cursing,  and  trying  to  pull  clear  of 
the  Band  which  was  being  chased  by  the  Drum-Horse 


2 12 


THE  ROUT  OF  THE  WHITE  HUSSARS. 


whose  rider  had  fallen  forward  and  seemed  to  be  spurring 
for  a wager. 

The  Colonel  had  gone  over  to  the  Mess  for  a drink. 
Most  of  the  officers  were  with  him,  and  the  Subaltern  of 
the  Day  was  preparing  to  go  down  to  the  lines,  and 
receive  the  watering  reports  from  the  Troop-Sergeant- 
Majors.  When  Take  me  to  London  stopped,  after 

twenty  bars,  every  one  in  the  Mess  said  : — ‘‘  What  on 
earth  has  happened  A minute  later,  they  heard  unmi- 
litary noises,  and  saw,  far  across  the  plain,  the  White 
Hussars  scattered,  and  broken,  and  flying. 

The  Colonel  was  speechless  with  rage,  for  he  thought 
that  the  Regiment  had  risen  against  him  or  was  unani- 
mously drunk.  The  Band,  a disorganized  mob,  tore  past, 
and  at  its  heels  labored  the  Drum-Horse — the  dead  and 
buried  Drum-Horse — with  the  jolting,  clattering  skeleton. 
Hogan-Yale  whispered  softly  to  Martyn  : — “ No  wire 
will  stand  that  treatment,''  and  the  Band,  which  had 
doubled  like  a hare,  came  back  again.  But  the  rest  of 
the  Regiment  was  gone,  was  rioting  all  over  the  Province, 
for  the  dusk  had  shut  in  and  each  man  was  howling  to 
hfs  neighbor  that  the  Drum-Horse  was  on  his  flank. 
Troop-Horses  are  far  too  tenderly  treated  as  a rule.  They 
can,  on  emergencies,  do  a great  deal,  even  with  seventeen 
stone  on  their  backs.  As  the  troopers  found  out. 

How  long  this  panic  lasted  I cannot  say.  I believe 
that  when  the  moon  rose  the  men  saw  they  had  nothing 
to  fear,  and,  by  twos  and  threes  and  half-troops,  crept 
back  into  Cantonments  very  much  ashamed  of  themselves. 
Meantime,  the  Drum-Horse,  disgusted  at  his  treatment 
by  old  friends,  pulled  up,  wheeled  round,  and  trotted  up 
to  the  Mess  verandah-steps  for  bread.  No  one  liked  to 
run  ; but  no  one  cared  to  go  forward  till  the  Colonel 
made  a movement  and  laid  hold  of  the  skeleton's  foot 


THE  ROUT  OF  THE  WHITE  HUSSARS. 


213 


The  Band  had  halted  some  distance  away,  and  now  came 
back  slowly.  The  Colonel  called  it,  individually  and 
collectively,  every  evil  name  that  occurred  to  him  at  the 
time  ; for  he  had  set  his  hand  on  the  bosom  of  the  Drum- 
Horse  and  found  flesh  and  blood.  Then  he  beat  the 
kettle-drums  with  his  clenched  fist,  and  discovered  that 
they  were  but  made  of  silvered  paper  and  bamboo.  Next, 
still  swearing,  he  tried  to  drag  the  skeleton  out  of  the 
saddle,  but  found  that  it  had  been  wired  into  the  cantle. 
The  sight  of  the  Colonel,  with  his  arms  round  the  skeleton  s 
pelvis  and  his  knee  in  the  old  Drum-Horse's  stomach,  was 
striking.  Not  to  say  amusing.  He  worried  the  thing  off 
in  a minute  or  two,  and  threw  it  down  on  the  ground, 
saying  to  the  Band  : — Here,  you  curs,  that's  what 
you're  afraid  of."  The  skeleton  did  not  look  pretty  in  the 
twilight.  The  Band-Sergeant  seemed  to  recognize  it,  for 
he  began  to  chuckle  and  choke.  Shall  I take  it  away, 
sir.? " said  the  Band-Sergeant.  Yes,"  said  the  Colonel, 

take  it  to  Hell,  and  ride  there  yourselves  ! " 

The  Band-Sergeant  saluted,  hoisted  the  skeleton 
across  his  saddle-bow,  and  led  off  to  the  stables. 
Then  the  Colonel  began  to  make  inquiries  for  the  rest 
of  the  Regiment,  and  the  language  he  used  was  wonder- 
ful. He  would  disband  the  Regiment — he  would  court- 
martial  every  soul  in  it — he  would  not  command  such  a 
set  of  rabble,  and  so  on,  and  so  on.  As  the  men  drop- 
ped in,  his  language  grew  wilder,  until  at  last  it  exceeded 
the  utmost  limits  of  free  speech  allowed  even  to  a Colonel 
of  Horse. 

Martyn  took  Hogan-Yale  aside  and  suggested  compul- 
sory retirement  from  the  service  as  a necessity  when  all 
was  discovered.  Martyn  was  the  weaker  man  of  the  two. 
Hogan-Yale  put  up  his  eyebrows  and  remarked,  firstly, 
that  he  was  the  son  of  a Lord,  and  secondly,  that  he  was 


THE  ROUT  OF  THE  WHITE  HUSSARSo 


as  innocent  as  the  babe  unborn  of  the  theatrical  resurrec- 
tion  of  the  Drum-Horse. 

My  instructions/'  said  Yale,  with  a singularly  sweet 
smile,  were  that  the  Drum-Horse  should  be  sent  back 
as  impressively  as  possible.  I ask  you,  am  I responsible 
if  a mule-headed  friend  sends  him  back  in  such  a manner 
as  to  disturb  the  peace  of  mind  of  a regiment  of  Her 
Majesty's  Cavalry } " 

Martyn  said  : — You  are  a great  man,  and  will  in  time 
become  a General ; but  I’d  give  my  chance  of  a troop  to 
be  safe  out  of  this  affair 

Providence  saved  Martyn  and  Hogan-Yale.  The  Sec- 
ond-in-Command  led  the  Colonel  away  to  the  little  cur- 
tained alcove  wherein  the  Subalterns  of  the  White  Hus- 
sars were  accustomed  to  play  poker  of  nights  ; and  there, 
after  many  oaths  on  the  Colonel's  part,  they  talked  to- 
gether in  low  tones.  I fancy  that  the  Second-in-Com- 
mand  must  have  represented  the  scare  as  the  work  of 
some  trooper  whom  it  would  be  hopeless  to  detect ; and 
I know  that  he  dwelt  upon  the  sin  and  the  shame  of  mak- 
ing a public  laughing-stock  of  the  scare. 

“They  will  call  us,"  said  the  Second-in-Command,  who 
had  really  a fine  imagination,"  they  will  call  us  the  'Fly- 
by-Nights ' ; they  will  call  us  the  ' Ghost  Hunters  ' ; they 
will  nick-name  us  from  one  end  of  the  Army  list  to  the 
other.  All  the  explanations  in  the  world  won't  make  out- 
siders understand  that  the  officers  were  away  when  the 
panic  began.  For  the  honor  of  the  Regiment  and  for  your 
own  sake  keep  this  thing  quiet." 

The  Colonel  was  so  exhausted  with  anger  that  sooth- 
ing him  down  was  not  so  difficult  as  might  be  imagined. 
He  was  made  to  see,  gently  and  by  degrees,  that  it  was 
obviously  impossible  to  court-martial  the  whole  Regiment 


THE  ROUT  OF  THE  WHITE  HUSSARS 


215 

and  equally  impossible  to  proceed  against  any  subaltern 
who,  in  his  belief,  had  any  concern  in  the  hoax. 

But  the  beasfs  alive  ! He's  never  been  shot  at  all ! 
shouted  the  Colonel.  ‘‘  Its  flat,  flagrant  disobedience  ! 
I've  known  a man  broke  for  less,  d — d side  less.  They're 
mocking  me,  I tell  you,  Mutman  ! They're  mocking  me  ! " 

Once  more,  the  Second-in-Command  set  himself  to 
soothe  the  Colonel,  and  wrestled  with  him  for  half-an- 
hour.  At  the  end  of  that  time,  the  Regimental  Sergeant- 
Major  reported  himself.  The  situation  was  rather  novel 
to  him  ; but  he  was  not  a man  to  be  put  out  by  circum- 
stances. He  saluted  and  said:  “Regiment  all  come 
back.  Sir."  Then,  to  propitiate  the  Colonel : — “An'  none 
of  the  horses  any  the  worse.  Sir." 

The  Colonel  only  snorted  and  answered  : — “ You’d 
better  tuck  the  men  into  their  cots,  then,  and  see  that  they 
don't  wake  up  and  cry  in  the  night."  The  Sergeant  with- 
drew. 

His  little  stroke  of  humor  pleased  the  Colonel,  and, 
further,  he  felt  slightly  ashamed  of  the  language  he  had 
been  using.  The  Second- in-Command  worried  him  again, 
and  the  two  sat  talking  far  into  the  night. 

Next  day  but  one,  there  was  a Commanding  Oflicer's 
parade,  and  the  Colonel  harangued  the  White  Hussars 
vigorously.  The  pith  of  his  speech  was  that,  since  the 
Drum-Horse  in  his  old  age  had  proved  himself  capable  of 
cutting  up  the  whole  Regiment,  he  should  return  to  his 
post  of  pride  at  the  head  of  the  Band,  but  the  Regiment 
were  a set  of  ruffians  with  bad  consciences. 

The  White  Hussars  shouted,  and  threw  everything 
moveable  about  them  into  the  air,  and  when  the  parade 
was  over,  they  cheered  the  Colonel  till  they  couldn't 
speak.  No  cheers  were  put  up  for  Lieutenant  Hogan 
Yale  who  smiled  very  sweetly  in  the  background. 


2i6  the  rout  of  the  white  hussars. 

Said  the  Second-in-Command  to  the  Colonel,  unoffi- 
cially : — 

‘‘  These  little  things  ensure  popularity,  and  do  not  the 
least  affect  discipline.” 

But  I went  back  on  my  word,”  said  the  Colonel. 

‘‘  Never  mind,”  said  the  Second-in-Command.  “ The 
White  Hussars  will  follow  you  anywhere  from  to-day. 
Regiments  are  just  like  women.  They  will  do  anything 
for  trinketry.” 

A week  later,  Hogan-Yale  received  an  extraordinary 
letter  from  some  one  who  signed  himself  ‘‘  Secretary, 
Chanty  and  Zeal,  3709,  E.  C.,”  and  asked  for  the  return, 
of  our  skeleton  which  we  have  reason  to  believe  is  in 
your  possession.” 

“ Who  the  deuce  is  this  lunatic  who  trades  in  bones } * 
said  Hogan-Yale. 

‘‘Beg  your  pardon.  Sir,”  said  the  Band-Sergeant,  “but 
the  skeleton  is  with  me,  an'  Til  return  it  if  you'll  pay 
the  carriage  into  the  Civil  Lines.  There's  a coffin  with  it. 
Sir.” 

Hogan-Yale  smiled  and  handed  two  rupees  to  the  Band- 
Sergeant,  saying  : — “ Write  the  date  on  the  skull,  will 
you  } ” 

If  you  doubt  this  story,  and  know  where  to  go,  you  can 
see  the  date  on  the  skeleton.  But  don't  mention  the  matter 
to  the  White  Hussars. 

I happen  to  know  something  about  it,  because  I pre- 
pared the  Drum-Horse  for  his  resurrection.  He  did  not 
kindly  to  the  skeleton  at  all. 


THE  BRONCKHORST  DIVORCE  CASE. 


237 


THE  BRONCKHORST  DIVORCE-CASE. 

In  the  daytime,  when  she  moved  about  me, 

In  the  night,  when  she  was  sleeping  at  my  side, — 

I was  wearied,  I was  wearied  of  her  presence. 

Day  by  day  and  night  by  night  I grew  to  hate  her — 

Would  God  that  she  or  I had  died  ! 

Confessions, 

There  was  a man  called  Bronckhorst — a three-cornered, 
middle-aged  man  in  the  Army — gray  as  a badger,  and, 
some  people  said,  with  a touch  of  country-blood  in  him. 
That,  however,  cannot  be  proved.  Mrs.  Bronckhorst  was 
not  exactly  young,  though  fifteen  years  younger  than  her 
husband.  She  was  a large,  pale,  quiet  woman,  with 
heavy  eyelids,  over  weak  eyes,  and  hair  that  turned  red 
or  yellow  as  the  lights  fell  on  it. 

Bronckhorst  was  not  nice  in  any  way.  He  had  no 
respect  for  the  pretty  public  and  private  lies  that  make  life 
a little  less  nasty  than  it  is.  His  manner  towards  his 
wife  was  coarse.  There  are  many  things — including 
actual  assault  with  the  clenched  fist — that  a wife  will 
endure  ; but  seldom  a wife  can  bear — as  Mrs.  Bronckhorst 
bore — with  a long  course  of  brutal,  hard  chaff,  making 
light  of  her  weaknesses,  her  headaches,  her  small  fits  of 
gayety,  her  dresses,  her  queer  little  attempts  to  make  her- 
self attractive  to  her  husband  when  she  knows  that  she  is 
not  what  she  has  been,  and — worst  of  all — the  love  that 
she  spends  on  her  children.  That  particular  sort  of  heavy- 
handed  jest  was  specially  dear  to  Bronckhorst.  I suppose 
that  he  had  first  slipped  into  it,  meaning  no  harm,  in  the 


2i8 


THE  BRONCKHORST  DIVORCE  CASE. 


honeymoon,  when  folk  find  their  ordinary  stock  of  endear- 
ments run  short,  and  so  go  to  the  other  extreme  to  express 
their  feelings.  A similar  impulse  makes  a man  say  : — 
‘‘Hutt,  you  old  beast ! ''  when  a favorite  horse  nuzzles  his 
coat- front.  Unluckily,  when  the  reaction  of  marriage 
sets  in,  the  form  of  speech  remains,  and,  the  tenderness 
having  died  out,  hurts  the  wife  more  than  she  cares  to 
say.  But  Mrs.  Bronckhorst  was  devoted  to  her  Teddy  '' 
as  she  called  him.  Perhaps  that  was  why  he  objected  to 
her.  Perhaps — this  is  only  a theory  to  account  for  his 
infamous  behavior  later  on — he  gave  away  to  the  queer, 
savage  feeling  that  sometimes  takes  by  the  throat  a 
husband  twenty  years'  married,  when  he  sees,  across  the 
table,  the  same  same  face  of  his  wedded  wife,  and  knows 
that,  as  he  has  sat  facing  it,  so  must  he  continue  to  sit 
until  day  of  its  death  or  his  own.  Most  men  and  all 
women  know  the  spasm.  It  only  lasts  for  three  breaths 
as  a rule,  must  be  a ‘‘throw-back"  to  times  when  men 
and  women  were  rather  worse  than  they  are  now,  and  is 
too  unpleasant  to  be  discussed. 

Dinner  at  the  Bronckhorsfs  was  an  infliction  few  men 
cared  to  undergo.  Bronckhorst  took  a pleasure  in  saying 
things  that  made  his  wife  wince.  When  their  little 
boy  came  in  at  dessert,  Bronckhorst  used  to  give  him 
half  a glass  of  wine,  and,  naturally  enough,  the  poor 
little  mite  got  first  riotous,  next  miserable,  and  was  re- 
moved screaming.  Bronckhorst  asked  if  that  was  the 
way  Teddy  usually  behaved,  and  whether  Mrs.  Bronck- 
horst could  not  spare  some  of  her  time  to  teach  the  “lit- 
tle beggar  decency."  Mrs.  Bronckhorst,  who  loved 
the  boy  more  than  her  own  life,  tried  not  to  cry^ — her 
spirit  seemed  to  have  been  broken  by  her  marriage. 
Lastly,  Bronckhorst  used  to  say: — “There!  That'll  do, 
that'll  do.  For  God's  sake  try  to  behave  like  a rational 


THE  BRONCKHORST  DIVORCE  CASE, 


219 


woman.  Go  in  to  the  drawing-room.''  Mrs.  Bronck- 
horst  would  go,  trying  to  carry  it  all  off  with  a smile  ; 
and  the  guest  of  the  evening  would  feel  angery  and  un- 
comfortable. 

After  three  years  of  this  cheerful  life  — for  Mrs. 
Bronckhorst  had  no  woman-friends  to  talk  to — the  Sta- 
tion was  startled  by  the  news  that  Bronckhorst  had  in- 
stituted proceedings  on  the  crinimal  county  against  a man 
called  Biel,  who  certainly  had  been  rather  attentive  to 
Mrs.  Bronckhorst  whenever  she  had  appeared  in  pub- 
lic. The  utter  want  of  reserve  with  which  Bronckhorst 
treated  his  own  dishonor  helped  us  to  know  that  the 
evidence  against  Biel  would  be  entirely  circumstantial 
and  native.  There  were  no  letters  ; but  Bronckhorst 
said  openly  that  he  would  rack  Heaven  and  Earth  until 
he  saw  Biel  superintending  the  manufacture  of  carpets  in 
the  Central  Jail.  Mrs.  Bronckhorst  kept  entirely  to  her 
house,  and  let  charitable  folks  say  what  they  pleased. 
Opinions  were  divided.  Some  two-thirds  of  the  Sta- 
tion jumped  at  once  to  the  conclusion  that  Biel  was 
guilty  ; but  a dozen  men  who  knew  and  liked  him  held 
by  him.  Biel  was  furious  and  surprised.  He  denied 
the  whole  thing,  and  vowed  that  he  would  thrash 
Bronckhorst  within  an  inch  of  his  life.  No  jury,  we 
knew,  could  convict  a man  on  the  criminal  count  on 
native  evidence  in  a land  where  you  can  buy  a murder- 
charge,  including  the  corpse,  all  complete  for  fifty-four 
rupees  ; but  Biel  did  not  care  to  scrape  through  by  the 
benefit  of  a doubt.  He  wanted  the  whole  thing  cleared  : 
but  as  he  said  one  night: — “He  can  prove  anything 
with  servants'  evidence,  and  I've  only  my  bare  word." 
This  was  about  a month  before  the  case  came  on ; and 
beyond  agreeing  with  Biel,  we  could  do  little.  All  that 
we  could  be  sure  of  was  that  the  native  evidence  would 


220 


THE  BRONCKHORST  DIVORCE  CASE. 


be  bad  enough  to  blast  Biebs  character  for  the  rest  of 
his  service  ; for  when  a native  begins  perjury  he  perjures 
himself  thoroughly.  He  does  not  boggle  over  details. 

Some  genius  at  the  end  of  the  table  whereat  the 
affair  was  being  talked  over,  said  : — ‘^Look  here!  I 
don't  believe  lawyers  are  any  good.  Get  a man  to  wire 
to  Strickland,  and  beg  him  to  come  down  and  pull  us 
through. " 

Strickland  was  about  a hundred  and  eighty  miles  up 
the  line.  He  had  not  long  been  married  to  Miss  You- 
ghal,  but  he  scented  in  the  telegram  a chance  of  return 
to  the  old  detective  work  that  his  soul  lusted  after,  and 
next  night  he  came  in  and  heard  our  story.  He  finish- 
ed his  pipe  and  said  oracularly  : — -'We  must  get  at  the 
evidence.  Oorya  bearer,  Mussalman  khit  and  methrajil 
ayah,  I suppose,  are  the  pillars  of  the  charge.  I am  on 
in  this  piece  ; but  I’m  afraid  I'm  getting  rusty  in 
my  talk." 

He  rose  and  went  into  Biel's  bedroom  where  his 
trunk  had  been  put,  and  shut  the  door.  An  hour  later, 
we  heard  him  say  : — I hadn't  the  heart  to  part  with 
my  old  make-ups  when  I married.  Wtll  this  do  } " 
There  was  a lothely  faquir  salaaming  in  the  doorway. 

‘‘  Now  lend  me  fifty  rupees,"  said  Strickland,  and 
give  me  your  Words  of  Honor  that  you  won't  tell  my 
Wife." 

He  got  all  that  he  asked  for,  and  left  the  house  while 
the  table  drank  his  health.  What  he  did  only  he  him- 
self knows.  A faquir  hung  about  Bronckhorst's  com- 
pound for  twelve  days.  Then  a mehter  appeared,  and 
when  Biel  heard  of  him,  he  said  that  Strickland  was  an 
angel  full-fledged.  Whether  the  mehter  made  love  to 
Janki,  Mrs.  Bronckhorst’s  ayah,  is  a question  which  con- 
cerns Strickland  exclusively. 


THE  BRONCKHORST  E/FORCE  CASE, 


221 


He  came  back  at  the  end  of  three  weeks,  and  said 
quietly: — You  spoke  the  truth,  Biel.  The  whole  busi- 
ness is  put  up  from  beginning  to  end.  ‘ Jove  ! It  almost 
astonishes  me  ! That  Bronckhorst-beast  isn't  fit  to  live." 

There  was  uproar  and  shouting,  and  Biel  said  : — • 
''  How  are  you  going  to  prove  it  1 You  can't  say 
that  you've  been  trespassing  on  Bronckhorst's  com- 
pound in  disguise  ! " 

No,"  said  Strickland."  Tell  your  lawyer-fool,  whoever 
he  is,  to  get  up  something  strong  about  ‘ inherent  im- 
probabilities' and  ^ discrepancies  of  evidence."  He  won't 
have  to  speak,  but  it  will  make  him  happy.  Fm  going 
to  run  this  business." 

Biel  held  his  tongue,  and  the  other  men  waited  to  see 
what  would  happen.  They  trusted  Strickland  as  men 
trust  quiet  men.  When  the  case  came  off  the  Court 
was  crowded.  Strickland  hung  about  in  the  verandah 
of  the  Court,  till  he  met  the  Mohammedan  khitmatgar. 
Then  he  murmured  a faquir  s blessing  in  his  ear,  and 
asked  him  how  his  second  wife  did.  The  man  spun 
round,  and,  as  he  looked  into  the  eyes  of  Estreeken 
his  jaw  dropped.  You  must  remember  that  be- 
fore Strickland  was  married,  he  was,  as  I have  told  you 
already,  a power  among  natives.  Strickland  whispered 
a rather  coarse  vernacular  proverb  to  the  effect  that  he 
was  abreast  of  all  that  was  going  on,  and  went  into  the 
Court  armed  with  a gut  trainer  s-whip. 

The  Mohammedan  was  the  first  witness  and  Strick- 
land beamed  upon  him  from  the  back  of  the  Court. 
The  man  moistened  his  lips  with  his  tongue  and,  in  his 
abject  fear  of  “ Estreeken  Sahib  " the  faquir^  went  back 
on  every  detail  of  his  evidence — said  he  was  a poor  man 
and  God  was  his  witness  that  he  had  forgotten  every 
thing  that  Bronckhorst  Sahib  had  told  him  to  say. 


222 


THE  BRONCKHORST  DIVORCE  CASE, 


Between  his  terror  of  Strickland,  the  Judge,  and  Bronck- 
horst  he  collapsed,  weeping. 

Then  began  the  panic  among  the  witnesses.  Janki, 
the  ayah,  leering  chastely  behind  her  veil,  turned  gray, 
and  the  bearer  left  the  Court.  He  said  that  his 
Mamma  was  dying  and  that  it  was  not  wholesome  for 
any  man  to  lie  unthriftily  in  the  presence  of  ‘‘  Estreeken 
Sahib  r 

Biel  said  politely  to  Bronckhorst  : — Your  witnesses 
don't  seem  to  work.  Haven't  you  any  forged  letters  to 
produce  ? ’'  But  Bronckhorst  was  swaying  to  and  fro  in 
his  chair,  and  there  was  a dead  pause  after  Biel  had  been 
called  to  order. 

Bronckhorst's  Counsel  saw  the  look  on  his  client's 
face,  and  without  more  ado,  pitched  his  papers  on  the 
little  green  baize  table,  and  mumbled  something  about 
having  been  misinformed.  The  whole  Court  applauded 
wildly,  like  soldiers  at  a theatre,  and  the  Judge  began  to 
say  what  he  thought. 


Biel  came  out  of  the  place,  and  Strickland  dropped 
a gut  trainer's-whip  in  the  verandah.  Ten  minutes 
later,  Beil  was  cutting  Bronckhorst  into  ribbons  behind 
the  old  Court  cells,  quietly  and  without  scandal.  What 
was  left  of  Bronckhorst  was  sent  home  in  a carriage  ; 
and  his  wife  wept  over  it  and  nursed  it  into  a man 
again. 

Later  on,  after  Biel  had  managed  to  hush  up  the 
counter-charge  against  Bronckhorst  of  fabricating  false 
evidence,  Mrs.  Bronckhorst,  with  her  faint,  watery  smile, 
said  that  there  had  been  a mistake,  but  it  wasn't  her 
Teddy's  fault  altogether.  She  would  wait  till  her  Teddy 
came  back  to  her.  Perhaps  he  had  grown  tired  of  her, 
or  she  had  tried  his  patience,  and  perhaps  we  wouldn't 


TEE  BRONCKHORST  DIVORCE  CASE. 


223 


cut  her  any  more,  and  perhaps  the  mothers  would  lei 
their  children  play  with  ‘‘little  Teddy''  again.  He  was 
so  lonely.  Then  the  Station  invited  Mrs.  Bronckhorst 
everywhere,  until  Bronckhorst  was  fit  to  appear  in  public 
when  he  went  Home  and  took  his  wife  with  him. 
According  to  the  latest  advices,  her  Teddy  did  “come 
back  to  her,"  and  they  are  moderately  happy.  Though, 
of  course,  he  can  never  forgive  her  the  thrashing  that  she 
was  the  indirect  means  of  getting  for  him. 

What  Biel  wants  to  know  is: — “Why  didn't  I press 
home  the  charge  against  the  Bronckhorst-brute,  and  have 
him  run  in  } " 

What  Mrs.  Strickland  wants  to  know  is  : — “ How  did 
my  husband  bring  such  a lovely,  lovely  Waler  from  your 
Station  I know  all  his  money  affairs  ; and  I'm  ceriam 
he  didn't  bfijy  it." 

What  I want  to  know  is  : — “ How  do  women  like  Mrs. 
Bronckhorst  come  to  marry  men  like  Bronckhorst  ? " 

And  my  conundrum  is  the  most  unanswerable  of  the 
three. 


224 


VENUS  ANNODOMINI. 


VENUS  ANNODOMINI. 

And  the  years  went  on,  as  the  years  must  do  ; 

But  our  great  Diana  was  always  new — 

Fresh,  and  blooming,  and  blonde,  and  fair, 

With  azure  eyes  and  with  aureate  hair; 

And  all  the  folk,  as  they  came  or  went, 

Offered  her  praise  to  her  heart’s  content. 

Diana  of  Ephesus. 

She  had  nothing  to  do  with  Number  Eighteen  in  the 
Braccio  Nuovo  of  the  Vatican,  between  Visconti's  Ceres 
and  the  God  of  the  Nile.  She  was  purely  an  Indian 
deity — an  Anglo-Indian  deity,  that  is  to  say — and  we 
called  her  the  Venus  Annodomini,  to  distinguish  her  from 
other  Annodominis  of  the  same  everlasting  order.  There 
was  a legend  among  the  Hills  that  she  had  once  been 
young  ; but  no  living  man  was  prepared  to  come  forward 
and  say  boldly  that  the  legend  was  true.  Men  rode  up  to 
Simla,  and  stayed,  and  went  away  and  made  their  name 
and  did  their  life’s  work,  and  returned  again  to  find  the 
Venus  Annodomini  exactly  as  they  had  left  her.  She 
was  as  immutable  as  the  Hills.  But  not  quite  so  green. 
All  that  a girl  of  eighteen  could  do  in  the  way  of 
riding,  walking,  dancing,  picnicking  and  over-exertion 
generally,  the  Venus  Annodomini  did,  and  showed  no 
sign  of  fatigue  or  trace  of  weariness.  Besides  perpetual 
youth,  she  had  discovered,  men  said,  the  secret  of  per- 
petual health  ; and  her  fame  spread  about  the  land.  From 
a mere  woman,  she  grew  to  be  an  Institution,  insomuch 
that  no  young  man  could  be  said  to  be  properly  formed, 


VENUS  ANNODOMINI, 


225 


who  had  not,  at  some  time  or  another,  worshipped  at  the 
shrine  of  the  Venus  Annodomini.  There  was  no  one 
like  her,  though  there  were  many  imitations.  Six  years 
in  her  eyes  were  no  more  than  six  months  to  ordinary 
women  ; and  ten  made  less  visible  impression  on  her  than 
does  a week’s  fever  on  an  ordinary  woman.  Every  one 
adored  her,  and  in  return  she  was  pleasant  and  courteous 
to  nearly  every  one.  Youth  had  been  a habit  of  hers  for 
so  long,  that  she  could  not  part  with  it — never  realized, 
in  fact,  the  necessity  of  parting  with  it — and  took  for  her 
more  chosen  associates  young  people. 

Among  the  worshippers  of  the  Venus  Annodomini 
was  young  Gayerson.  Very  Young  Gayerson,”  he 
was  called  to  distinguish  him  from  his  father  ‘'Young’’ 
Gayerson,  a Bengal  Civilian,  who  affected  the  customs 
— as  he  had  the  heart — of  youth.  “Very  Young”  Gayer- 
son was  not  content  to  worship  placidly  and  for  form’s 
sake,  as  the  other  young  men  did,  or  to  accept  a ride  or 
a dance,  or  a talk  from  the  Venus  Annodomini  in  a 
properly  humble  and  thankful  spirit.  He  was  exacting, 
and,  therefore,  the  Venus  Annodomini  repressed  him. 
He  worried  himself  nearly  sick  in  a futile  sort  of  way 
over  her  ; and  his  devotion  and  earnestness  made  him  ap- 
pear either  shy  or  boisterous  or  rude,  as  his  mood  might 
vary,  by  the  side  of  the  older  men  who,  with  him,  bowed 
before  the  Venus  Annodomini.  She  was  sorry  for  him. 
He  reminded  her  of  a lad  who,  three- and-twenty  years 
ago,  had  professed  a boundless  devotion  for  her,  and  for 
whom  in  return  she  had  felt  something  more  than  a 
week’s  weakness.  But  that  lad  had  fallen  away  and 
married  another  woman  less  than  a y^ar  after  he  had 
worshipped  her  ; and  the  Venus  Annodomini  had  almost 
— not  quite — forgotten  his  name.  “Very  Young”  Gay- 
erson had  the  same  big  blue  eyes  and  the  sanne  way^  of 

^5 


226 


VENUS  ANNODOMINL 


pouting  his  underlip  when  he  was  excited  or  troubled. 
But  the  Venus  Annodomini  checked  him  sternly  none  the 
less.  Too  much  zeal  was  a thing  that  she  did  not 
approve  of;  preferring  instead,  a tempered  and  sober 
tenderness. 

‘‘Very  Young'*  Gayerson  was  miserable,  and  took  no 
trouble  to  conceal  his  wretchedness.  He  was  in  the 
Army — a Line  regiment  I think,  but  am  not  certain— 
and,  since  his  face  was  a looking  glass  and  his  forehead 
an  open  book,  by  reason  of  his  innocence,  his  brothers 
in  arms  made  his  life  a burden  to  him  and  embittered 
his  naturally  sweet  disposition.  No  one  except  “Very 
Young"  Gayerson,  and  he  never  told  his  views,  knew 
how  old  “Very  Young"  Gayerson  believed  the  Venus 
Annodomini  to  be.  Perhaps  he  thought  her  five  and 
twenty,  or  perhaps  she  told  him  that  she  was  this  age. 
“Very  Young"  Gayerson  would  have  forded  the  Gugger 
in  flood  to  carry  her  lightest  word,  and  had  implicit  faith 
in  her.  Every  one  liked  him,  and  every  one  was  sorry 
when  they  saw  him  so  bound  a slave  of  the  Venus  Anno- 
domini. Every  one,  too,  admitted  that  it  was  not  her 
fault;  for  the  Venus  Annodomini  differed  from  Mrs. 
Hauksbee  and  Mrs.  Reiver  in  this  particular — she  never 
moved  a finger  to  attract  any  one ; but,  like  Ninon 
de  TEnclos,  all  men  were  attracted  to  her.  One  could 
admire  and  respect  Mrs.  Hauksbee,  despise  and  avoid 
Mrs.  Reiver,  but  one  was  forced  to  adore  the  Venus 
Annodomini. 

“Very  Young"  Gayerson's  papa  held  a Division  or  a 
Collectorate  or  something  administrative  in  a particularly 
unpleasant  part  of  Bengal — full  of  Babus  who  edited 
newspapers  provmg  that  “ Young  " Gayerson  was  a 
“Nero  "and  a “Scylla"  and  a “ Charybdis  " ; and,  in 
in  addition  to  the  B^bus,  there  was  a good  deal  of  dys- 


VENUS  ANNODOMINI. 


227 


entery  and  cholera  abroad  for  nine  months  of  the  year. 

Young  ''  Gayerson — he  was  about  five  and  forty — 
rather  liked  Babus,  they  amused  him,  but  he  objected  to 
dysentery,  and  when  he  could  get  away,  went  to  Darj  fil- 
ing for  the  most  part.  This  particular  season  he  fancied 
that  he  would  come  up  to  Simla  and  see  his  boy.  The 
boy  was  not  altogether  pleased.  He  told  the  Venus 
Annodomini  that  his  father  was  coming  up,  and  she 
flushed  a little  and  said  that  she  should  be  delighted 
to  make  his  acquaintance.  Then  she  looked  long  and 
thoughtfully  at  “Very  Young''  Gayerson  ; because  she 
was  very,  very  sorry  for  him,  and  he  was  a very,  very 
big  idiot. 

“ My  daughter  is  coming  out  in  a fortnight,  Mr.  Gayt^r- 
son, " she  said. 

“ Your  what !”  said  he. 

“ Daughter,"  said  the  Venus  Annodomini.  “ She's 
been  out  for  a year  at  Home  already,  and  I want  her  to 
see  a little  of  India.  She  is  nineteen  and  a very  sensible 
nice  girl  I believe." 

“Very  Young"  Gayerson,  who  was  a short  twenty- 
two  years  old,  nearly  fell  out  of  his  chair  with  astonish- 
ment ; for  he  had  persisted  in  believing,  against  all  belief, 
in  the  youth  of  the  Venus  Annodomini.  She,  with  her 
back  to  the  curtained  window,  watched  the  effect  of  her 
sentences  and  smiled.  * 

“Very  Young"  Gayerson's  papa  came  up  twelve  days 
later,  and  had  not  been  in  Simla  four  and  twenty  hours, 
before  two  men,  old  acquaintances  of  his,  had  told  him 
how  “Very  Young"  Gayerson  had  been  conducting 
himself. 

“ Young  " Gayerson  laughed  a good  deal,  and  inquired 
whc  the  Venus  Annodomini  might  be.  Which  proves 
that  he  had  been  living  in  Bengal  where  nobody  know^ 


228 


VENUS  ANNODOMINI. 


anything  except  the  rate  of  Exchange.  Then  he  said 
^‘boys  will  be  boys/' and  spoke  to  his  son  about  the 
matter.  ‘'Very  Young"  Gayerson  said  that  he  felt 
wretched  and  unhappy;  and  “Young"  Gayerson  said 
that  he  repented  of  having  helped  to  bring  a fool  into  the 
world.  He  suggested  that  his  son  had  better  cut  his 
leave  short  and  go  down  to  his  duties.  This  led  to  an 
unfilial  answer,  and  relations  were  strained,  until  ‘ ‘ Young  " 
Gayerson  demanded  that  they  should  call  on  the  Venus 
Annodomini.  “Very  Young"  Gayerson  went  with  his 
papa,  feeling,  somehow,  uncomfortable  and  small. 

The  Venus  Annodomini  received  them  graciously  and 
“ Young  " Gayerson  said  : — “ By  Jove  ! It’s  Kitty  ! ’ 
“ Very  Young  " Gayerson  would  have  listened  for  an 
explanation,  if  his  time  had  not  been  taken  up  with 
trying  to  talk  to  a large,  handsome,  quiet,  well-dressed 
girl — introduced  to  him  by  the  Venus  Annodomini  as  her 
daughter.  She  was  far  older  in  manner,  style  and  repose 
than  “ Very  Young  " Gayerson  ; and,  as  he  realized  this 
thing,  he  felt  sick. 

Presently,  he  heard  the  Venus  Annodomini  saying : — 
“ Do  you  know  that  your  son  is  one  of  my  most  devoted 
admirers } " 

“ I don’t  wonder,"  said  “ Young  " Gayerson.  Here  he 
raised  his  voice  : — “ He  follows  his  father’s  footsteps. 
Didn’t  I worship  the  ground  you  trod  on,  ever  so  long 
ago,  Kitty — and  you  haven’t  changed  since  then.  How 
strange  it  all  seems  ! ’’ 

“Very  Young"  Gayerson  said  nothing.  His  conversa- 
tion with  the  daughter  of  the  Venus  Annodomini  was, 
through  the  rest  of  the  call,  fragmentary  and  disjointed. 


“ At  five  to-morrow  then,"  said  the  Venus  Annodomini. 
“ And  mind  you  are  punctual." 


VENUS  ANNODOMINE 


229 


At  five  punctually/'  said  “ Young"  Gay  erson.  ‘‘You 
can  lend  your  old  father  a horse  I dare  say,  youngster, 
can't  you  ? I’m  going  for  a ride  to-morrow  afternoon." 

“ Certainly,"  said  Very  Young  " Gayerson.  “I  am 
going  down  to-morrow  morning.  My  ponies  are  at  your 
service.  Sir." 

The  Venus  Annodomini  looked  at  him  across  the  half- 
light  of  the  room,  and  her  big  gray  eyes  filled  with 
moisture.  She  rose  and  shook  hands  with  him. 

“ Good-bye,  Tom,"  whispered  the  Venus  Annodomini. 


THE  BISARA  OF  POORER. 


%lO 


THE  BISARA  OF  POORER 

Little  Blind  Fish,  thou  art  marvellous  wise, 

Little  Blind  Fish,  who  put  out  thy  eyes  ? 

Open  thy  ears  while  I whisper  my  wish — 

^Bring  me  a lover,  thou  little  Blind  Fish. 

The  Charm  of  the  Bisara, 

natives  say  that  it  came  from  the  other  side  oi 
Kttlu,  wnere  the  eleven-inch  Temple  Sapphire  is.  Others 
that  it  w^s  made  at  the  Devil-Shrine  of  Ao-Chung-  in  Thi- 
bet, was  sijolen  by  a Kafir,  from  him  by  a Gurkha,  from 
him  again  by  a Lahouli,  from  him  by  a khitmaigar,  and 
by  this  latter  sold  to  an  Englishman,  so  all  its  virtue  was 
lost  : because,  to  work  properly,  the  Bisara  of  Pooree 
must  be  stolen — with  bloodshed  if  possible,  but,  at  any 
rate,  stolen. 

These  stories  of  the  coming  into  India  are  all  false.  It 
was  made  at  Pooree  ages  since — the  manner  of  its  mak- 
ing would  fill  a small  book — was  stolen  by  one  of  the 
Temple  dancing-girls  there,  for  her  own  purposes,  and 
then  passed  on  from  hand  to  hand,  steadily  northward, 
till  it  reached  Hanla  : always  bearing  the  same  name — 
the  Bisara  of  Pooree.  In  shape  it  is  a tiny  square  box  of 
silver,  studded  outside  with  eight  small  balas-rubies. 
Inside  the  box,  which  opens  with  a spring,  is  a little  eye- 
less fish,  carved  from  some  sort  of  dark,  shiny  nut  and 
wrapped  in  a shred  of  faded  gold-cloth.  That  is  the 
Bisara  of  Pooree,  and  it  were  better  for  a man  to 
take  a king  cobra  in  his  hand  than  to  touch  Iho  Bisara  of 
Prooee. 


THE  BISARA  OF  POOREE. 


231 


All  kinds  of  magic  are  out  of  date,  and  done  away  with 
except  in  India  where  nothing  changes  in  spite  of  the 
shiny,  toy-scum  stuff  that  people  call  ''civilization/'  Any 
man  who  knows  about  the  Bisara  of  Pooree  will  tell  you 
what  its  powers  are — always  supposing  that  it  has  been 
honestly  stolen.  It  is  the  only  regularly  working,  trust- 
worthy love-charm  in  the  country,  with  one  exception. 

[The  other  charm  is  in  the  hands  of  a trooper  of  the 
Nizam's  Horse,  at  a place  called  Tuprani,  due  north  of 
Hyderabad.]  This  can  be  depended  upon  for  a fact. 
Some  one  else  may  explain  it. 

If  the  Bisara  be  not  stolen,  but  given  or  bought  or 
found,  it  turns  against  its  owner  in  three  years,  and  leads 
to  ruin  or  death.  This  is  another  fact  which  you  may 
explain  when  you  have  time.  Meanwhile,  you  can  laugh 
at  it.  At  present,  the  Bisara  is  safe  on  an  ekka-Y^owys 
neck,  inside  the  blue  bead-necklace  that  keeps  off  the 
Evil-eye.  If  the  ^^^^z-driver  ever  finds  it,  and  wears  it, 
or  gives  it  to  his  wife,  I am  sorry  for  him. 

A very  dirty  hill-cooly  woman,  with  goitre,  owned  it 
at  Theog  in  1884.  It  came  into  Simla  from  the  north 
before  Churton's  khitmatgar  bought  it,  and  sold  it,  for 
three  times  its  silver-value,  to  Churton,  who  collected 
curiosities.  The  servant  knew  no  more  what  he  had 
bought  than  the  master ; but  a man  looking  over 
Churton's  collection  of  curiosities — Churton  was  an 
Assistant  Commissioner  by  the  way — saw  and  held  his 
tongue.  He  was  an  Englishman  ; but  knew  how  to  be- 
lieve. Which  shows  that  he  was  different  from  most 
Englishmen.  He  knew  that  it  was  dangerous  to  have 
any  share  in  the  little  box  when  working  or  dormant ; for 
unsought  Love  is  a terrible  gift. 

Pack — "Grubby"  Pack,  as  we  used  to  call  him — was, 
in  every  way,  a nasty  little  man  who  must  have  crawled 


232 


THE  BISARA  OF  POORER. 


into  the  Army  by  mistake.  He  was  three  inches  taller 
than  his  sword,  but  not  half  so  strong.  And  the  sword 
was  a fifty-shilling,  tailor-made  one.  Nobody  liked  him, 
and,  I suppose,  it  was  his  wizenedness  and  worthless- 
ness that  made  him  fall  so  hopelessly  in  love  with  Miss 
Hollis,  who  was  good  and  sweet,  and  five  foot  seven  in 
her  tennis-shoes.  He  was  not  content  with  falling  in 
love  quietly,  but  brought  all  the  strength  of,  his  miser- 
able little  nature  into  the  business.  If  he  had  not  been  so 
objectionable,  one  might  have  pitied  him.  He  vapored, 
and  fretted,  and  fumed,  and  trotted  up  and  down,  and 
tried  to  make  himself  pleasing  in  Miss  Hollis’s  big,  quiet, 
gray  eyes,  and  failed.  It  was  one  of  the  cases  that  you 
sometimes  meet,  even  in  this  country  where  we  marry 
by  Code,  of  a really  blind  attachment  all  on  one  side, 
without  the  faintest  possibility  of  return.  Miss  Hollis 
looked  on  Pack  as  some  sort  of  vermin  running  about  the 
road.  He  had  no  prospects  beyond  Captain's  pay,  and 
no  wits  to  help  that  out  by  one  anna.  In  a large-sized 
man,  love  like  his  would  have  been  touching.  In  a good 
man  it  would  have  been  grand.  He  being  what  he  was, 
it  was  only  a nuisance. 

You  will  believe  this  much.  What  you  will  not  be- 
lieve, is  what  follows  : Churton,  and  The  Man  who 
Knew  what  the  Bisara  was,  were  lunching  at  the  Simla 
Club  together.  Churton  was  complaining  of  life  in  gen- 
eral. His  best  mare  had  rolled  out  of  stable  down  the 
hill  and  had  broken  her  back  ; his  decisions  were  being 
reversed  by  the  upper  Courts  more  than  an  Assistant 
Commissioner  of  eight  years'  standing  has  a right  to  ex- 
pect ; he  knew  liver  and  fever,  and,  for  weeks  past,  had 
felt  out  of  sorts.  Altogether,  he  was  disgusted  and  dis- 
heartened. 

Simla  Club  dining-room  is  built,  as  all  the  world 


THE  BISARA  OF  POOREE. 


233 


knows,  in  two  sections,  with  an  arch-arrangement  divid- 
ing them.  Come  in,  turn  to  your  own  left,  take  the  table 
under  the  window,  and  you  cannot  see  any  one  who  has 
come  in,  turned  to  the  right,  and  taken  a table  on  the 
right  side  of  the  arch.  Curiously  enough,  every  word 
that  you  say  can  be  heard,  not  only  by  the  other  diner, 
but  by  the  servants  beyond  the  screen  through  which  they 
bring  dinner.  This  is  worth  knowing  : an  echoing-room 
is  a trap  to  be  forewarned  against. 

Half  in  fun,  and  half  hoping  to  be  believed.  The  Man 
who  Knew  told  Churton  the  story  of  the  Bisara  of 
Pooree  at  rather  greater  length  than  I have  told  it  to 
you  in  this  place  ; winding  up  with  a suggestion  that 
Churton  might  as  well  throw  the  little  box  down  the 
hill  and  see  whether  all  his  troubles  would  go  with  it. 
In  ordinary  ears,  English  ears,  the  tale  was  only  an 
interesting  bit  of  folk-lore.  Churton  laughed,  said  that 
he  felt  better  for  his  tiffin,  and  went  out.  Pack  had 
been  tiffining  by  himself  to  the  right  of  the  arch,  and 
had  heard  everything.  He  was  nearly  mad  with  his 
absurd  infatuation  for  Miss  Hollis,  that  all  Simla  had 
been  laughing  about. 

It  is  a curious  thing  that,  when  a man  hates  or  loves 
beyond  reason,  he  is  ready  to  go  beyond  reason  to  gratify 
his  feelings.  Which  he  would  not  do  for  money  or 
power  merely.  Depend  upon  it,  Solomon  would  never 
have  built  altars  to  Ashtaroth  and  all  those  ladies  with 
queer  names,  if  there  had  not  been  trouble  of  some  kind 
in  his  zenana,  and  nowhere  else.  But  this  is  beside  the 
story.  The  facts  of  the  case  are  these  : Pack  called  on 
Churton  next  day  when  Churton  was  out,  left  his  card, 
and  stole  the  Bisara  of  Pooree  from  its  place  under  the 
clock  on  the  mantel-piece  ! Stole  it  like  the  thief  he  was 
by  nature.  Thiee  days  later,  all  Simla  was  electrified 


234 


THE  BISARA  OB  POOREE. 


by  the  news  that  Miss  Hollis  had  accepted  Pack — the 
shrivelled  rat,  Pack ! Do  you  desire  clearer  evidence 
than  this?  The  Bisara  of  Pooree  had  been  stolen,  and  it 
worked  as  it  had  always  done  when  won  by  foul  means. 

There  are  three  or  four  times  in  a man’s  life  when  he 
is  justified  in  meddling  with  other  people’s  affairs  to  play 
Providence. 

The  Man  who  Knew  felt  that  he  was  justified ; but 
believing  and  acting  on  a belief  are  quite  different  things. 
The  insolent  satisfaction  of  Pack  as  he  ambled  by  the 
side  of  Miss  Hollis,  and  Churton’s  striking  release  from 
liver,  as  soon  as  the  Bisara  of  Pooree  had  gone,  decided 
the  Man.  He  explained  to  Churton,  and  Churton  laughed, 
because  he  was  not  brought  up  to  believe  that  men  on 

the  Government  House  List  steal at  least  little  things. 

But  the  miraculous  acceptance  by  Miss  Hollis  of  that 
tailor.  Pack,  decided  him  to  take  steps  on  suspicion.  He 
vowed  that  he  only  wanted  to  find  out  where  his  ruby- 
studded  silver  box  had  vanished  to.  You  cannot  accuse 
a man  on  the  Government  House  List  of  stealing.  And 
if  you  rifle  his  room,  you  are  a thief  yourself.  Churton, 
prompted  by  The  Man  who  Knew,  decided  on  burglary. 
If  he  found  nothing  in  Pack’s  room  ....  but  it  is  not  nice 
to  think  of  what  would  have  happened  in  that  case. 

Pack  went  to  a dance  at  Benmore — Benmore  was 
Benmore  in  those  days,  and  not  an  office — and  danced 
fifteen  walzes  out  of  twenty-two  with  Miss  Hollis. 
Churton  and  The  Man  took  all  the  keys  that  they  could 
lay  hands  on,  and  went  to  Pack’s  room  in  the  hotel, 
certain  that  his  servants  would  be  away.  Pack  was  a 
cheap  soul.  He  had  not  purchsed  a decent  cash-box  to 
keep  his  papers  in,  but  one  of  those  native  imitations 
that  you  buy  for  ten  rupees.  It  opened  to  any  sort  of 


THE  BISARA  OF  POO  REE, 


235 

key,  and  there  at  the  bottom,  under  Pack's  Insurance 
Policy,  lay  the  Bisara  of  Pooree  ! 

Churton  called  Pack  names,  put  the  Bisara  of  Pooree  in 
his  pocket,  and  went  to  the  dance  with  The  Man.  At 
least,  he  came  in  time  for  supper,  and  saw  the  beginning 
of  the  end  in  Miss  Hollis's  eyes.  She  was  hysterical 
after  supper,  and  was  taken  away  by  her  Mamma. 

At  the  dance,  with  the  abominable  Bisara  in  his 
pocket,  Churton  twisted  his  foot  on  one  of  the  steps 
leading  down  to  the  old  Rink,  and  had  to  be  sent  home 
in  a rickshaw,  grumbling.  He  did  not  believe  in  the 
Bisara  of  Pooree  any  the  more  for  this  manifestation,  but 
he  sought  out  Pack  and  called  him  some  ugly  names  ; and 
thief"  was  the  mildest  of  them.  Pack  took  the  names 
with  the  nervous  smile  of  a little  man  who  wants  both 
soul  and  body  to  resent  an  insult,  and  went  his  way 
There  was  no  public  scandal. 

A week  later.  Pack  got  his  definite  dismissal  from  Miss 
Hollis.  There  had  been  a mistake  in  the  placing  of  her 
affections,  she  said.  So  he  went  away  to  Madras,  where 
he  can  do  no  great  harm  even  if  he  lives  to  be  a Colonel. 

Churton  insisted  upon  The  Man  who  Knew  taking  the 
Bisara  of  Pooree  as  a gift.  The  Man  took  it,  went  down 
to  the  Cart-Road  at  once,  found  an  ekka-^ony  with  a blue 
bead-necklace,  fastened  the  Bisara  of  Pooree  inside  the 
necklace  with  a piece  of  shoe-string  and  thanked  Heaven 
that  he  was  rid  of  a danger.  Remember,  in  case  you 
ever  find  it,  that  you  must  not  destroy  the  Bisara  of  Pooree. 
I have  not  time  to  explain  why  just  now,  but  the  power 
lies  in  the  little  wooden  fish.  Mister  Gubernatis  or 
Max  Muller  could  tell  you  more  about  it  than  I. 

You  will  say  that  all  this  story  is  made  up.  Very  well. 
If  ever  you  come  across  a little,  silver,  ruby-studded  box, 
seven-eighth  of  an  inch  long  by  three-quarters  wide,  with 


THS  BISARA  OF  POOREE. 


236 

a dark-brown  wooden  fish,  wrapped  in  gold  cloth,  inside 
it,  keep  it.  Keep  it  for  three  years,  and  then  you  will  dis- 
cover for  yourself  whether  my  story  is  true  or  false. 

Better  still,  steal  it  as  Pack  did,  and  you  will  be  sorry 
that  you  had  not  killed  yourself  in  the  beginning. 


THE  GATE  OF  THE  HUNDRED  SORROWS. 


237 


THE  GATE  OF  A HUNDRED  SORROWS. 

“ If  I can  attain  Heaven  for  a pice,  why  should  you  be  envious  ? 

Opium  SmokeRs  Proverb. 

This  is  no  work  of  mine.  My  friend,  Gabral  Misquitta. 
the  half-caste,  spoke  it  all,  between  moonset  and  morn- 
ing, six  weeks  before  he  died  ; and  I took  it  down  from  his 
mouth  as  he  answered  my  questions,  so  : — 

It  lies  between  the  Copper-smith's  Gully  and  the  pipe- 
stem  sellers'  quarter,  within  a hundred  yards,  too,  as 
the  crow  flies,  of  the  Mosque  of  Wazir  Khan.  I don't 
mind  telling  any  one  this  much,  but  I defy  him  to  find 
the  Gate,  however  well  he  may  think  he  knows  the  City. 
You  might  even  go  through  the  very  gully  it  stands  in  a 
hundred  times,  and  be  none  the  wiser.  We  used  to  call 
the  gully,  the  Gully  of  the  Black  Smoke,'’  but  its  native 
name  is  altogether  different  of  course.  A loaded  donkey 
couldn't  pass  between  the  walls  ; and,  at  one  point,  just 
before  you  reach  the  Gate,  a bulged  house-front  makes 
people  go  along  all  sideways. 

It  isn't  really  a gate  though.  It's  a house.  Old  Fung- 
Tching  had  it  first  five  years  ago.  He  was  a boot-maker 
in  Calcutta.  They  say  that  he  murdered  his  wife  there 
when  he  was  drunk.  That  was  why  he  dropped  bazar- 
rum  and  took  to  the  Black  Smoke  instead.  Later  on,  he 
came  up  north  and  opened  the  Gate  as  a house  where  you 
could  get  your  smoke  in  peace  and  quiet.  Mind  you,  it 
was  a pukka^  respectable  opium-house,  and  not  one  of 


238  the  gate  of  the  hundred  sorrows. 

those  stifling,  sweltering  cha?idoo-khanas,  that  you  can  find 
all  over  the  City.  No ; the  old  man  knew  his  business 
thoroughly,  and  he  was  most  clean  for  a Chinaman.  He 
was  a one-eyed  little  chap,  not  much  more  than  five  feet 
high,  and  both  his  middle  fingers  were  gone.  All  the 
same,  he  was  the  handiest  man  at  rolling  black  pills  I 
have  ever  seen.  Never  seemed  to  be  touched  by  the 
Smoke,  either  ; and  what  he  took  day  and  night,  night 
and  day,  was  a caution.  Tve  been  at  it  five  years,  and 
I can  do  my  fair  share  of  the  Smoke  with  anyone  ; but  I 
was  a child  to  Fung-Tching  that  way.  All  the  same,  the 
old  man  was  keen  on  his  money,  very  keen ; and  that’s 
what  I can’t  understand.  I heard  he  saved  a good  deal 
before  he  died,  but  his  nephew  has  got  all  that  now  ; and 
the  old  man’s  gone  back  to  China  to  be  buried. 

He  kept  the  big  upper  room,  where  his  best  customers 
gathered,  as  neat  as  a new  pin.  In  one  corner  used  to 
stand  Fung-Tching’s  Joss — almost  as  ugly  as  Fung-Tching 
— and  there  were  always  sticks  burning  under  his  nose  ; 
but  you  never  smelt  'em  when  the  pipes  were  going 
thick.  Opposite  the  Joss  was  Fung-Tching’s  coffin.  He 
had  spent  a good  deal  of  his  savings  on  that,  and  when- 
ever a new  man  came  to  the  Gate  he  was  always  intro- 
duced to  it.  It  was  lacquered  black,  with  red  and  gold 
writings  on  it,  and  Fve  heard  that  Fung-Tching  brought 
it  out  all  the  way  from  China.  I don't  know  whether 
that's  true  or  not,  but  I know  that,  if  I came  first  in  the 
evening,  I used  to  spread  my  mat  just  at  the  foot  of  it. 
It  was  a quiet  corner  you  see,  and  a sort  of  breeze  from 
the  gully  came  in  at  the  window  now  and  then.  Besides 
the  mats,  there  was  no  other  furniture  in  the  room — only 
the  coffin,  and  the  old  Joss  all  green  and  blue  and  purple 
with  age  and  polish. 

Fung-Tching  never  told  us  why  he  called  the  place 


THE  GATE  OF  THE  HUNDRED  SORROWS, 


239 


‘‘The  Gate  of  the  Hundred  Sorrows/'  (He  was  the  only 
Chinaman  I know  who  used  bad-sounding  fancy  names. 
Most  of  them  are  flowery.  As  you  11  see  in  Calcutta.) 
We  used  to  find  that  out  for  ourselves.  Nothing  grows 
on  you  so  much,  if  you’re  white,  as  the  Black  Smoke.  A 
yellow  man  is  made  different.  Opium  doesn’t  tell  on 
him  scarcely  at  all ; but  white  and  black  suffer  a good 
deal.  Of  course,  there  are  some  people  that  the  Smoke 
doesn't  touch  any  more  than  tobacco  would  at  first. 
They  just  dose  a bit,  as  one  would  fall  asleep  naturally, 
and  next  morning  they  are  almost  fit  for  work.  Now, 
I was  one  of  that  sort  when  I began,  but  I’ve  been  at  it 
for  five  years  pretty  steadily,  and  its  different  now. 
There  was  an  old  aunt  of  mine,  down  Agra  way,  and 
she  left  me  a little  at  her  death.  About  sixty  rupees  a 
month  secured.  Sixty  isn’t  much.  I can  recollect  a time, 
'seems  hundreds  and*  hundreds  of  years  ago,  that  I was 
getting  my  three  hundred  a month,  and  pickings,  when 
I was  working  on  a big  timber  contract  in  Calcutta. 

I didn’t  stick  to  that  work  for  long.  The  Black 
Smoke  does  not  allow  of  much  other  business ; and 
even  though  I am  very  little  affected  by  it,  as  men  go 
I couldn’t  do  a day’s  work  now  to  save  my  life.  After 
all,  sixty  rupees  is  what  I want.  When  old  Fung-Tching 
was  alive  he  used  to  draw  the  money  for  me,  give  me 
about  half  of  it  to  live  on  (I  eat  very  little),  and  the  rest 
he  kept  himself.  I was  free  of  the  Gate  at  any  time  of 
the  day  and  night,  and  could  smoke  and  sleep  there  when 
I liked,  so  I didn’t  care.  I know  the  old  man  made  a good 
thing  out  of  it ; but  thafs  no  matter.  Nothing  matters 
much  to  me  ; and,  besides,  the  money  always  came  fresh 
and  fresh  each  month. 

There  was  ten  of  us  met  at  the  Gate  when  the  place  was 
first  opened.  Me^  and  two  Baboon  from  a Government 


240  the  gate  of  the  HUNDRED  SORROWS. 

Office  somewhere  in  Anarkulli,  but  they  got  the  sack  and 
couldn't  pay  (no  man  who  has  to  work  in  the  daylight  can 
do  the  Black  Smoke  for  any  length  of  time  straight  on) ; a 
Chinaman  that  was  Fung-Tching's  nephew ; a bazar- 
woman  that  had  got  a lot  of  money  somehow ; an  English 
loafer — Mac-Somebody  I think,  but  I have  forgotten — that 
smoked  heaps,  but  never  seemed  to  pay  anything  (they 
said  he  had  saved  Fung-Tching's  life  at  some  trial  in  Cal- 
cutta when  he  was  a barrister)  : another  Eurasian,  like 
myself,  from  Madras  ; a half-caste  woman,  and  a couple 
of  men  who  said  they  had  come  from  the  North.  I think 
they  must  have  been  Persians  or  Afghans  or  something. 
There  are  not  more  than  five  of  us  living  now,  but  we 
come  regular.  I don't  know  what  happened  to  the  Baboos  ; 
but  the  bazar-woman  she  died  after  six  months  of  the 
Gate,  and  I think  Fung-Tching  took  her  bangles  and  nose- 
ring for  himself.  But  I'm  not  certain.  The  Englishman, 
he  drank  as  well  as  smoked,  and  he  dropped  off.  One  of 
the  Persians  got  killed  in  a row  at  night  by  the  big  well 
near  the  mosque  a long  time  ago,  and  the  Police  shut  up 
the  well,  because  they  said  it  was  full  of  foul  air.  They 
found  him  dead  at  the  bottom  of  it.  So,  you  see,  there  is 
only  me,  the  Chinaman,  the  half-caste  woman  that  we  call 
the  Memsahih  (she  used  to  live  with  Fung-Tching),  the 
other  Eurasian,  and  one  of  the  Persians.  The  Memsahih 
looks  very  old  now.  I think  she  was  a young  woman 
when  the  Gate  was  opened ; but  we  are  all  old  for  the 
matter  of  that.  Hundreds  and  hundreds  of  years  old.  It 
is  very  hard  to  keep  count  of  time  in  the  Gate,  and  besides, 
time  doesn't  matter  to  me.  I draw  my  sixty  rupees  fresh 
and  fresh  every  month.  A very,  very  long  while  ago, 
when  I used  to  be  getting  three  hundred  and  fifty  rupees 
a month,  and  pickings,  on  a big  timber-contract  at  Cal- 
cutta, I had  a wife  of  sorts.  But  she's  dead  now.  People 


THE  GATE  OF  THE  HUNDRED  SORROWS. 


241 


said  that  1 killed  her  By  taking  to  the  Black  Smoke.  Per- 
haps I did,  but  it's  so  long  since  that  it  doesn't  matter. 
Sometimes  when  I first  came  to  the  Gate,  I used  to  feel 
sorry  for  it ; but  that’s  all  over  and  done  with  long  ago, 
and  I draw  my  sixty  rupees  fresh  and  fresh  every  month, 
And  am  quite  happy.  Not  drunk  happy,  you  know,  but 
always  quiet  and  soothed  and  contented. 

How  did  I take  to  it.^^  It  began  at  Calcutta.  I used  to 
try  it  in  my  own  house,  just  to  see  what  it  was  like.  I 
never  went  very  far,  but  I think  my  wife  must  have 
died  then.  Anyhow,  I found  myself  here,  and  got  to 
know  Fung-Tching.  I don't  remember  rightly  how  that 
came  about  ; but  he  told  me  of  the  Gate  and  1 used  to  go 
there,  and,  somehow,  I have  never  got  away  from  it 
since.  Mind  you,  though,  the  Gate  was  a respectable 
place  in  Fung-Tching's  time  where  you  could  be  comfort- 
able, and  not  at  all  like  the  chandoo-khanas  where  the  nig- 
gers go.  No  ; it  was  clean  and  quiet,  and  not  crowded. 
Of  course,  there  were  others  besides  us  ten  and  the  man  ; 
but  we  always  had  a mat  apiece,  with  a wadded  woollen 
head-piece,  all  covered  with  black  and  red  dragons  and 
things  ; just  like  the  coffin  in  the  corner. 

At  the  end  of  one  s third  pipe  the  dragons  used  to  move 
about  and  fight.  I've  watched  'em,  many  and  many  a 
night  through.  I used  to  regulate  my  Smoke  that  way, 
and  now  it  takes  a dozen  pipes  to  make  'em  stir.  Besides, 
they  are  all  torn  and  dirty,  like  the  mats,  and  old  Fung- 
Tching  is  dead.  He  died  a couple  of  years  ago,  and  gave 
me  the  pipe  I always  use  now — a silver  one,  with  queer 
beasts  crawling  up  and  down  the  receiver-bottle  below 
the  cup.  Before  that,  I think,  I used  a big  bamboo  stem 
with  a copper  cup,  a very  small  one,  and  a green  jade 
mouthpiece.  It  was  a little  thicker  than  a walking-stick 
stem,  and  smoked  sweet,  very  sweet.  The  bamboo 

16 


242 


THE  GATE  OF  THE  HUNDRED  SORROWS. 


seemed  to  suck  up  the  smoke.  Silver  doesn't,  and  I've 
got  to  clean  it  out  now  and  then,  that’s  a great  deal  of 
trouble,  but  I smoke  it  for  the  old  man’s  sake.  He  must 
have  made  a good  thing  out  of  me,  but  he  always  gave 
me  clean  mats  and  pillows,  and  the  best  stuff  you  could 
get  anywhere. 

When  he  died,  his  nephew  Tsin-ling  took  up  the  Gate, 
and  he  called  it  the  ''  Temple  of  the  Three  Possessions 
but  we  old  ones  speak  of  it  as  the  Hundred  Sorrows," 
all  the  same.  I'he  nephew  does  things  very  shabbily,  and 
I think  the  Memsahih  must  help  him.  She  lives  with  him  ; 
same  as  she  used  to  do  with  the  old  man.  The  two  let 
in  all  sorts  of  low  people,  niggers  and  all,  and  the  Black 
Smoke  isn't  as  good  as  it  used  to  be.  I've  found  burnt 
bran  in  my  pipe  over  and  over  again.  The  old  man  would 
have  died  if  that  had  happened  in  his  time.  Besides,  the 
room  is  never  cleaned,  and  all  the  mats  are  torn  and  cut 
at  the  edges.  The  coffin  is  gone — gone  to  China  again 
— with  the  old  man  and  two  ounces  of  smoke  inside  it, 
in  case  he  should  want  'em  on  the  way. 

The  Joss  doesn't  get  so  many  sticks  burnt  under  his 
nose  as  he  used  to  ; that's  a sign  of  ill-luck,  as  sure  as 
Death.  He's  all  brown,  too,  and  no  one  ever  attends  to 
him.  That's  the  MemsahiV s work,  I know  ; because, 
when  Tsin-ling  tried  to  burn  gilt  paper  before  him,  she 
said  it  was  a waste  of  money,  and,  if  he  kept  a stick 
burning  very  slowly,  the  Joss  wouldn't  know  the  differ- 
ence. So  now  we've  got  the  sticks  mixed  with  a lot  of 
glue,  and  they  take  half-an-hour  longer  to  burn,  and 
smell  stinky.  Let  alone  the  smell  of  the  room  by  itself 
No  business  can  get  on  if  they  try  that  sort  of  thing. 
The  Joss  doesn't  like  it.  I can  see  that.  Late  at  night, 
sometimes,  he  turns  all  sorts  of  queer  colors — blue  and 
green  and  red — ^just  as  he  used  to  do  when  old  Fung- 


THE  GATE  OF  THE  HUNDRED  SORROWS.  243 

Tching  was  alive  ; and  he  rolls  his  eyes  and  stamps  his 
feet  like  a devil. 

I don't  know  why  I don't  leave  the  place  and  smoke 
quietly  in  a little  room  of  my  own  in  the  bazar.  Most 
like,  Tsin-ling  would  kill  me  if  I went  away — he  draws 
my  sixty  rupees  now — and  besides,  it's  so  much  trouble, 
and  I've  grown  to  be  very  fond  of  the  Gate.  It's  not 
much  to  look  at.  Not  what  it  was  in  the  old  man's 
time,  but  I couldn't  leave  it.  I've  seen  so  many  come 
in  and  out.  And  I've  seen  so  many  die  here  on  the 
mats  that  I should  be  afraid  of  dying  in  the  open  now. 
I've  seen  some  things  that  people  would  call  strange 
enough  ; but  nothing  is  strange  when  you're  on  the 
Black  Smoke,  except  the  Black  Smoke.  And  if  it  was, 
it  wouldn't  matter.  Fung-Tching  used  to  be  very  partic- 
ular about  his  people,  and  never  got  in  any  one  who'd 
give  trouble  by  dying  messy  and  such.  But  the  nephew 
isn't  half  so  careful.  He  tells  everywhere  that  he  keeps 
a ‘'first-chop  " house.  Never  tries  to  get  men  in  quietly, 
and  make  them  comfortable  like  Fung-Tching  did. 
That's  why  the  Gate  is  getting  a little  bit  more  known 
than  it  used  to  be.  Among  the  niggers  of  course. 
The  nephew  daren't  get  a white,  or,  for  matter  of  that, 
a mixed  skin  into  the  place.  He  has  to  keep  us  three 
of  course — me  and  the  Memsahib  and  the  other  Eurasian. 
We're  fixtures.  But  he  wouldn't  give  us  credit  for  a 
pipeful — not  for  anything. 

One  of  these  days,  I hope,  I shall  die  in  the  Gate. 
The  Persian  and  the  Madras  man  are  terribly  shaky 
now.  They’ve  got  a boy  to  light  their  pipes  for  them. 
I always  do  that  myself.  Most  like,  I shall  see  them 
carried  out  before  me.  I don't  think  I shall  ever  out- 
live the  Memsahib  or  Tsin-ling.  Women  last  longer 
than  men  at  the  Black-Smoke,  and  Tsin-ling  has  a deal 


244 


THE  GATE  OF  THE  HUNDRED  SORROWS. 


of  the  old  man's  blood  in  him,  though  he  does  smoke 
cheap  stuff.  The  bazar- woman  knew  when  she  was 
going  two  days  before  her  time  ; and  she  died  on  a 
clean  mat  with  a nicely  wadded  pillow,  and  the  old 
man  hung  up  her  pipe  just  above  the  Joss.  He  was 
always  fond  of  her,  I fancy.  But  he  took  her  bangles 
just  the  same. 

I should  like  to  die  like  the  bazar-woman — on  a clean, 
cool  mat  with  a pipe  of  good  stuff  between  my  lips. 
When  I feel  Tm  going,  I shall  ask  Tsin-ling  for  them, 
and  he  can  draw  my  sixty  rupees  a month,  fresh  and 
fresh,  as  long  as  he  pleases.  Then  I shall  lie  back,  quiet 
and  comfortable,  and  watch  the  black  and  red  dragons 
have  their  last  big  fight  together  ; and  then  .... 

Well,  it  doesn't  matter.  Nothing  matters  much  to  me 
— only  I wish  Tsin-ling  wouldn't  put  bran  into  the  Black 
Smoke. 


THE  MADNESS  OF  PRIVATE  ORTHERIS, 


245 


THE  MADNESS  OF  PRIVATE  ORTHERIS. 

Oh  ! Where  would  I be  when  my  froat  was  dry  ? 

Oh  ! Where  would  I be  when  the  bullets  fly  ? 

Oh  ! Where  would  I be  when  I come  to  die  ? 

Why, 

Somewheres  anigh  my  chum. 

If  ’e’s  liquor  ’e’ll  give  me  some, 

If  I’m  dyin’  ’e’ll  ’old  my  ’ead, 

An’  ’e’ll  write  ’em  ’Ome  when  I’m  dead. — 

Gawd  send  us  a trusty  chum ! 

Barrack  Room  Ballad, 

My  friends  Mulvaney  and  Ortheris  had  gone  on  a 
shooting-expedition  for  one  day.  Learoyd  was  still  in 
hospital,  recovering  from  fever  picked  up  in  Burma.  They 
sent  me  an  invitation  to  join  them,  and  were  genuinely 
pained  when  I brought  beer — almost  enough  beer  to 
satisfy  two  Privates  of  the  Line  ....  and  Me. 

Twasn't  for  that  we  bid  you  welkim,  Sorr,''  said 
Mulvaney  sulkily.  ‘"'Twas  for  the  pleasure  av  your 
company. '' 

Ortheris  came  to  the  rescue  with  : — Well,  'e  won't  be 
none  the  worse  for  bringin'  liquor  with 'm.  We  ain't  a 
file  o'  Dooks.  We're  bloomin'  Tommies,  ye  cantankris 
Hirishman  ; an  'ere's  your  very  good  ’ealth  ! " 

We  shot  all  the  forenoon,  and  killed  two  pariah-dogs, 
four  green  parrots,  sitting,  one  kite  by  the  burning-ghaut, 
one  snake  flying,  one  mud-turtle,  and  eight  crows.  Game 
was  plentiful.  Then  we  sat  down  to  tiffin — ^‘bull-mate 
an'  bran-bread,"  Mulvaney  called  it — by  the  side  of  the 
river,  and  too'k  pot  shots  at  the  crocodiles  in  the, intervals 
of  cutting  up  the  food  with  our  only  pocket-knife.  Then 


246  THE  MADNESS  OF  PRIVATE  OR  THE  R IS. 


we  drank  up  all  the  beer,  and  threw  the  bottles  into  the 
water  and  fired  at  them.  After  that,  we  eased  belts  and 
stretched  ourselves  on  the  warm  sand  and  smoked.  We 
were  too  lazy  to  continue  shooting. 

Ortheris  heaved  a big  sigh,  as  he  lay  on  his  stomach 
with  his  head  between  his  fists.  Then  he  swore  quietly 
into  the  blue  sky. 

'‘Fwhafis  that  for said  Mulvaney.  ‘‘Have  ye  not 
drunk  enough } '' 

“Totfnim  Court  Road,  an'  a gal  I fancied  there.  Wot's 
the  good  of  sodgerin  ' ^ ” 

“Orth'ris,  me  son,"  said  Mulvaney  hastily,  “ 'tis  more 
than  likely  you've  got  throuble  in  your  inside  with  the  beer. 
I feel  that  way  mesilf  whin  my  liver  gets  rusty." 

Ortheris  went  on  slowly,  not  heeding  the  interrup- 
tion : — 

“I'm  a Tommy — a bloomin',  eight-anna,  dog-stealin*, 
Tommy,  with  a number  instead  of  a decent  name.  Wot's 
the  good  o'  me } If  I 'ad  a stayed  at  'Ome,  I might  a' 
married  that  gal  and  a kep'  a'  little  shorp  in  the  ‘Am- 
mersmith  ' Igh. — ‘S  Orth’ris,  Prac-ti-cal  Taxi-der-mist.' 
With  a stuff'  fox,  like  they  'as  in  the  Haylesbury  Dairies, 
in  the  winder,  an'  a little  case  of  blue  and  yaller  glass- 
heyes,  an'  a little  wife  to  call,  ‘ shorp  ! ’ ‘ shorp  ! ' when 
the  door  bell  rung.  As  it  his,  I'm  on'y  a Tommy — a 
Bloomin',  Gawd-forsaken,  Beer-swillin',  Tommy.  ‘Rest 
on  your  harms — 'versed.  Stan'  at — hease ; ' Shun.  ‘Verse 
— harms.  Right  an' lef — farm.  Slow — march.  'Alt — 
front.  Rest  on  your  harms — 'versed.  With  blank-cart- 
ridge— load'.  An'  that's  the  end  o'  me."  He  was  quoting 
fragments  from  Funeral  Parties'  Orders. 

“Stoput!  shouted  Mulvaney.  “ Whin  you've  fired 
into  nothin'  as  often  as  me,  over  a better  man  than  your- 
silf,  you  will  not  make  a mock  av  thim  orders.  'Tis 


THE  MAD  HESS  OF  PRIVATE  ORTHERIS. 


247 

worse  than  whistlin’  the  Dead  March  in  barricks.  An’ 
you  full  as  a tick,  an’  the  sun  cool,  an’  all  an’  all ! I take 
shame  for  you.  You’re  no  better  than  a Pagin — you  an’ 
your  firin’-parties  an’  your  glass-eyes.  Won’t  you  stop 
ut,  Sorr?” 

What  could  I do  ! Could  I tell  Ortheris  anything  that 
he  did  not  know  of  the  pleasures  of  his  life } I was  not 
a Chaplain  nor  a Subaltern,  and  Ortheris  had  a right  to 
speak  as  he  thought  fit. 

‘‘Let  him  run,  Mulvaney,”  I said.  “ It’s  the  beer.” 
“No!  ’Tisn’t  the  beer,”  said  Mulvaney,  “ I know 
fwhat’s  cornin’.  He’s  tuk  this  way  now  an’  agin,  an’  it’s 
bad — it’s  bad — for  I’m  fond  av  the  bhoy.” 

Indeed,  Mulvaney  seemed  needlessly  anxious  ; but  1 
knew  that  he  looked  after  Ortheris  in  a fatherly  way. 

“ Let  me  talk,  let  me  talk,”  said  Ortheris,  dreamily. 
“ D’you  stop  your  parrit  screamin’  of  a ’ot  day,  when  the 
cage  is  a-cookin’  ’is  pore  little  pink  toes  orf,  Mulvaney 
“Pink  toes  1 D’ye  mane  to  say  you’ve  pink  toes 
under  your  bullswools,  ye  blandanderin,’ ” — Mulvaney 
gathered  himself  together  for  a terrific  denunciation — 
“ school-misthress  ! Pink  toes  I How  much  Bass  wid 
the  label  did  that  ravin’  child  dhrink  ? ” 

“ Tain’t  Bass,”  said  Ortheris.  “It’s  a bitterer  beer 
nor  that.  It’s  ’ome-sickness  ! ” 

“ Hark  to  him  I An’  he’s  goin’  Home  in  the  Sherapis 
in  the  inside  av  four  months  ! ” 

“ I don’t  care.  It’s  all  one  to  me.  ’Ow  d’you  know  I 
ain’t  ’fraid  o’  dyin’  ’fore  I gets  my  papers  } ” He  recom- 
menced, in  a sing-song  voice,  the  Funeral  Orders. 

I had  never  seen  this  side  of  Ortheris’s  character  before, 
but  evidently  Mulvaney  had,  and  attached  serious  impor- 
tance to  it.  While  Ortheris  babbled,  with  his  head  on  his 
arms,  Mulvaney  whispered  to  me  : 


248  the  madness  of  private  ortheris, 

'‘He's  always  tuk  this  way  whin  he's  been  checked  over- 
much by  the  childher  they  make  Sarjints  now-a-days. 
That  'an  havin'  nothin'  to  do.  I can't  make  ut  out  any- 
ways. " 

" Well,  what  does  it  matter  .?  Let  him  talk  himself 
through." 

Ortheris  began  singing  a parody  of  " The  Ramrod 
Corps,"  full  of  cheerful  allusions  to  battle,  murder  and 
sudden  death.  He  looked  out  across  the  river  as  he  sang  ; 
and  his  face  was  quite  strange  to  me.  Mulvaney  caught 
me  by  the  elbow  to  ensure  attention. 

" Matther  } It  matthers  everything  ! 'Tis  some  sort  av 
fit  that's  on  him.  I've  seen  ut.  'Twill  hould  him 
all  this  night,  an'  in  the  middle  av  it,  he'll  get  out  av  his 
cot  and  go  rakin'  in  the  rack  for  his  'coutrements. 
Thin  he'll  come  over  to  me  an'  say  : — ' I'm  goin'  to 
Bombay.  Answer  for  me  in  the  mornin'. ' Thin  me  an’ 
him  will  fight  as  we've  done  before — him  to  go  an'  me  to 
hould  him — an'  so  we'll  both  come  on  the  books  for  dis- 
turbin’ in  barricks.  I've  belted  him,  an'  I've  bruk  his 
head,  an'  I've  talked  to  him,  but  'tis  no  manner  av  use 
whin  the  fit's  on  him.  He's  as  good  a bhoy  as  ever 
stepped  whin  his  mind’s  clear.  I know  fwhat's  cornin', 
though,  this  night  in  barricks.  Lord  send  he  doesn’t 
loose  off  whin  I rise  for  to  knock  him  down.  'Tis  that 
that's  in  my  mind  day  an'  night." 

This  put  the  case  in  a much  less  pleasant  light,  and 
fully  accounted  for  Mulvaney's  anxiety.  He  seemed  to 
be  trying  to  coax  Ortheris  out  of  the  “fit";  for  he 
shouted  down  the  bank  where  the  boy  was  lying  : — 

" Listen  now,  you  wid  the  ' pore  pink  toes' an'  the  glass 
eyes  ! Did  you  shwim  the  Irriwaddy  at  night,  behin'me, 
as  a bhoy  shud ; or  were  you  hidin'  under  a bed,  as  you 
was  at  Ahmed  Kheyl  ? 


THE  MADNESS  OF  PRIVATE  OR  THE  RTS. 


249 


This  was  at  once  a gross  insult  and  a direct  lie,  and 
Mulvaney  meant  it  to  bring  on  a fight.  But  Ortheris 
seemed  shut  up  in  some  sort  of  trance.  He  answered 
slowly,  without  a sign  of  irritation,  in  the  same  cadenced 
voice  as  he  had  used  for  his  firing-party  orders  : — 

swum  the  Irriwaddyin  the  night,  ?cs>you  know,  for 
to  take  the  town  of  Lungtungpen,  nakid  an’  without  fear. 
Hand  where  I was  at  Ahmed  Kheyl  you  know,  and  four 
bloomin'  Pathans  know  too.  But  that  was  summat  to  do, 
an'  I didn't  think  o'dyin.'  Now  I'm  sick  to  go  'Ome — go- 
'Ome — go  'Ome  ! No,  I ain't  mammy  sick,  because  my 
uncle  brung  me  up,  but  I'm  sick  for  London  again;  sick  for 
the  sounds  of 'er ; an' the  sights  of  'er,  and  the  stinks  of  'er  ; 
orange-peel  and  hasphalte  an'  gas  cornin'  in  over  Vaux'all 
Bridge.  Sick  for  the  rail  goin'  down  to  Box '111,  with  your 
gal  on  your  knee  an'  a new  clay  pipe  in  your  face.  That, 
an'  the  Stran'  lights  where  you  knows  ev'ryone,  an'  the 
Copper  that  takes  you  up  is  a old  friend  that  tuk  you  up 
before,  when  you  was  a little,  smitchy  boy  lying  loose 
'tween  the  Temple  an'  the  Dark  Harches.  No  bloomin' 
guard-mountin',  no  bloomin'  rotten-stone,  nor  khaki,  an' 
yourself  your  own  master  with  a gal  to  take  an'  see  the 
Humaners  practisin'  ahookin'  dead  corpses  out  of  the 
Serpentine  o'  Sundays.  An'  I lef  all  that  for  to  serve  the 
Widder  beyond  the  seas  where  there  ain't  no  women 
and  there  ain't  no  liquor  worth  'avin,'  and  there  ain’t 
nothin'  to  see,  nor  do,  nor  say,  nor  feel,  nor  think. 
Lord  love  you,  Stanley  OrthTis,  but  you're  a bigger 
bloomin'  fool  than  the  rest  o'  the  reg'ment  and  Mulvaney 
wired  together  ! There's  the  Widder  sittin'  at  'Ome  with 
a gold  crown'd  on  'er  'ead  ; and  'ere  am  Hi,  Stanley  Or- 
th'ris,  the  Widder's  property,  a rottin'  fool  ! " 

His  voice  rose  at  the  end  of  the  sentence,  and  he 
wound  up  with  a six-shot  Anglo-Vernacular  oath.  Mul- 


250 


THE  MAD  HESS  OF  PRIVATE  ORTHERIS. 


van ey  said  nothing,  but  looked  at  me  as  if  he  expected 
that  I could  bring  peace  to  poor  Ortheris's  troubled  brain. 

I remembered  once  at  Rawal  Pindi  having  seen  a 
man,  nearly  mad  with  drink,  sobered  by  being  made 
a fool  of.  Some  regiments  may  know  what  I mean. 
I hoped  that  we  might  shake  off  Ortheris  in  the  same 
way,  though  he  was  perfectly  sober  : So  I said  : — 

“ WhaPs  the  use  of  grousing  there,  and  speaking 
against  The  Widow  .? '' 

didn’t ! ” said  Ortheris.  ‘‘S’elp  me  Gawd,  I never 
said  a word  agin  ’er,  an’  I wouldn’t — not  if  I was  to 
desert  this  minute  ! ” 

Here  was  my  opening.  ‘‘Well,  you  meant  to,  any- 
how. What’s  the  use  of  cracking  on  for  nothing  ? 
Would  you  slip  it  now  if  you  got  the  chance .?  ” 

“ On’y  try  me  ! ” said  Ortheris,  jumping  to  his  feet  as 
if  he  had  been  stung. 

Mulvaney  jumped  too.  “ Fwhat  are  you  going  to 
do } ” said  he. 

“ Help  Ortheris  down  to  Bombay  or  Karachi,  which- 
ever he  likes.  You  can  report  that  he  separated  from 
you  before  tiffin,  and  left  his  gun  on  the  bank  here  ! " 

“I’m  to  report  that — am  I.?”  said  Mulvaney,  slowly. 
“Very  well.  If  Orth’ris  manes  to  desert  now,  and  will 
desert  now,  an’  you,  Sorr,  who  have  been  a friend  to 
me  an’  to  him,  will  help  him  to  ut,  I,  Terence  Mulvaney, 
on  my  oath  which  I’ve  never  bruk  yet,  will  report  as 

you  say.  But” here  he  stepped  up  to  Ortheris, 

and  shook  the  stock  of  the  fowling-piece  in  his  face — 
“your  fistes  help  you,  Stanley  Orth’ris,  if  ever  I come 
across  you  agin  ! ” 

“I  don’t  care  ! ’^  said  Ortheris.  “I’m  sick  o’  this 
dorg’s  life.  Give  me  a chanst.  Don’t  play  with  me. 
Le’  me  go  ! ” 


THE  MADNESS  OF  PRIVA  TE  OR  THERIS,  2 5 1 

Strip/’ said  I,  ^‘and  change  with  me,  and  then  I’ll 
tell  you  what  to  do/’ 

I hoped  that  the  absurdity  of  this  would  check 
Ortheris  ; but  he  had  kicked  off  his  ammunition-boots 
and  got  rid  of  his  tunic  almost  before  I had  loosed 
my  shirt-collar.  Mulvaney  gripped  me  by  the  arm  : — 

‘‘The  fit’s  on  him  : the  fit’s  workin’  on  him  still.  By 
my  Honour  and  Sowl,  we  shall  be  accessiry  to  a desar- 
tion  yet ; only  twenty-eight  days,  as  you  say,  Sorr,  or  fifty- 
six,  but  think  o’  the  shame — the  black  shame  to  him  an’ 
me  ! ” I had  never  seen  Mulvaney  so  excited. 

But  Ortheris  was  quite  calm,  and,  as  soon  as  he  had 
exchanged  clothes  with  me,  and  I stood  up  a Private  of 
the  Line,  he  said  shortly: — “Now!  Come  on.  What 
nex’.?  D’ye  mean  fair.  What  must  I do  to  get  out  o’ 
this  ’ere  a Hell } ” 

I told  him  that,  if  he  would  wait  for  two  or  three 
hours  near  the  river,  I would  ride  into  the  Station  and 
come  back  with  one  hundred  rupees.  He  would,  with 
that  money  in  his  pocket,  walk  to  the  nearest  side-sta- 
tion on  the  line,  about  five  miles  away,  and  would  there 
take  a first-class  ticket  for  Karachi.  Knowing  that  he 
had  no  money  on  him  when  he  went  out  shooting,  his 
regiment  would  not  immediately  wire  to  the  sea-ports, 
but  would  hunt  for  him  in  the  native  villages  near  the 
river.  Further,  no  one  would  think  of  seeking  a de- 
serter in  a first-class  carriage.  At  Karachi,  he  was  to  buy 
white  clothes  and  ship,  if  he  could,  on  a cargo-steamer. 

Here  he  broke  in.  If  I helped  him  to  Karachi,  he 
would  arrange  all  the  rest.  Then  I ordered  him  to  wait 
where  he  was  until  it  was  dark  enough  for  me  to  ride  into 
the  station  without  my  dress  being  noticed.  Now  God 
in  His  wisdom  has  made  the  heart  of  the  British  Soldier, 
who  is  very  often  an  unlicked  ruffian,  as  soft  as  the  heart 


252 


THE  MADNESS  OF  PRIVATE  ORTHERIS, 


of  a Ijttle  child,  in  order  that  he  may  believe  in  and  follow 
his  officers  into  tight  and  nasty  places.  He  does  not  so 
readily  come  to  believe  in  a ‘‘  civilian''  but,  when  he  does, 
he  believes  implicitly  and  like  a dog.  I had  had  the 
honor  of  the  friendship  of  Private  Ortheris,  at  intervals, 
for  more  than  three  years,  and  we  had  dealt  with  each  other 
as  man  by  man.  Consequently,  he  considered  that  all 
my  words  were  true,  and  not  spoken  lightly. 

Mulvaney  and  I left  him  in  the  high  grass  near  the 
river-bank,  and  went  away,  still  keeping  to  the  high  grass, 
towards  my  horse.  The  shirt  scratched  me  horribly. 

We  waited  nearly  two  hours  for  the  dusk  to  fall  and 
allow  me  to  ride  off.  We  spoke  of  Ortheris  in  whispers, 
and  strained  our  ears  to  catch  any  sound  from  the  spot 
where  we  had  left  him.  But  we  heard  nothing  except  the 
wind  in  the  plume-grass. 

I've  bruk  his  head,"  said  Mulvaney,  earnestly,  time 
an'  agin.  I've  nearly  kilt  him  wid  the  belt,  2iX\  yet  I can't 
knock  thim  fits  out  ov  his  soft  head.  No  ! An'  he's  not  soft, 
for  he's  reasonable  an’ likely  by  natur.'  Fwhatisut.?^  Is 
ut  his  breedin'  which  is  nothin',  or  his  edukashin  which 
he  niver  got  You  that  think  ye  know  things,  answer 
me  that." 

But  I found  no  answer.  I was  wondering  how  long 
Ortheris,  in  the  bank  of  the  river,  would  hold  out,  and 
whether  I should  be  forced  to  help  him  to  desert,  as  I had 
given  my  word. 

Just  as  the  dusk  shut  down  and,  with  a very  heavy  heart, 
I was  beginning  to  saddle  up  my  horse,  we  heard  wild 
shouts  from  the  river. 

The  devils  had  departed  from  Private  Stanley  Ortheris^ 
No.  22639,  Company.  The  loneliness,  the  dusk,  and 
the  waiting  had  driven  them  out  as  I had  hoped.  We  set 
off  the  double  at  and  found  him  plunging  about  wildly 


THE  MADNESS  OF  PRIVATE  ORTHERIS. 


253 

through  the  grass,  with  his  coat  off — my  coat  off,  I mean. 
He  was  calling  for  us  like  a madman. 

When  we  reached  him,  he  was  dripping  with  perspira- 
tion, and  trembling  like  a startled  horse.  We  had  great 
difficulty  in  soothing  him.  He  complained  that  he  was 
in  civilian  kit,  and  wanted  to  tear  my  clothes  off  his  body. 
I ordered  him  to  strip,  and  we  made  a second  exchange 
as  quickly  as  possible. 

The  rasp  of  his  own  ‘‘  grayback’'  shirt  and  the  squeak 
of  his  boots  seemed  to  bring  him  to  himself.  He  put  his 
hands  before  his  eyes  and  said  : — 

‘‘Wot  was  it?  I 'aint  mad,  I ain’t  sunstrook,  an’  I’ve  bin 

an’  gone  an’  said,  an’  bin  an’  gone  an’  done Wol 

^ave  I bin  an’  done  ! ” 

“ Fwhat  have  you  done?”  said  Mulvaney.  “You’ve 
dishgraced  yourself — though  that’s  no  matter.  You’ve 
dishgraced  B.  Comp’ny,  an’  worst  av  all,  you’ve  dish- 
graced  Me/  Me  that  taught  you  how  for  to  walk  abroad 
like  a man — whin  you  was  a dhirty  little,  fish-backed 
little,  whimperin’  little  recruity.  As  you  are  now,  Stanley 
Orth’ris  !” 

Ortheris  said  nothing  for  a while.  Then  he  unslung 
his  belt,  heavy  with  the  badges  of  half-a-dozen  regiments 
that  his  own  had  lain  with,  and  handed  it  over  to  Mul- 
vaney. 

“I’m  too  little  for  to  mill  you,  Mulvaney,”  said  he, 
“an’  you’ve  strook  me  before ; but  you  can  take  an’  cut 
me  in  two  with  this  ere  if  you  like.  ” 

Mulvaney  turned  to  me. 

“ Lave  me  talk  to  him,  Sorr,”  said  Mulvaney. 

I left,  and  on  my  way  home  thought  a good  deal  over 
Ortheris  in  particular,  and  my  friend.  Private  Thomas 
Atkins,  whom  I love,  in  general. 

But  I could  not  come  to  any  conclusion  of  any  kind 
whatever. 


^54 


THE  STORY  OF  MUHAMMD  DIN. 


THE  STORY  OF  MUHAMMAD  DIN. 

“ Who  is  the  happy  man  ? He  that  sees  in  his  own  house  at  home 
little  children  crown  with  dust,  leaping  and  falling  and  crying.” 

Munichandra^  translated  by  Professor  Peterson. 

The  polo-ball  was  an  old  one,  scarred,  chipped,  and 
dinted.  It  stood  on  the  mantlepiece  among  the  pipe- 
stems  which  Imam  Din,  khitmatgar,  was  cleaning  for 
me. 

''Does  the  Heaven-born  want  this  ball said  Imam 
Din  deferentially.” 

The  Heaven-born  set  no  particular  store  by  it ; but  of 
what  use  was  a polo-ball  to  a khitmatgar ? 

"By  Your  Honors  favor,  I have  a little  son.  He  has 
seen  this  ball,  and  desires  it  to  play  with.  I do  not  want 
it  for  myself.  ” 

No  one  would  for  an  instant  accuse  portly  old  Imam 
Din  of  wanting  to  play  with  polo-balls.  He  carried  out 
the  battered  thing  into  the  verandah  ; and  there  followed  a 
hurricane  of  joyful  squeaks,  a patter  of  small  feet,  and 
the  thud-thud-thud  of  the  ball  rolling  along  the  ground. 
Evidently  the  little  son  had  been  waiting  outside  the  door 
to  secure  his  treasure.  But  how  had  he  managed  to  see 
that  polo-ball } 

Next  day,  coming  back  from  office  half  an  hour  earlier 
than  usual,  I was  aware  of  a small  figure  in  the 
dining-room — a tiny,  plump  figure  in  a ridiculously  in- 
adequate shirt  which  came,  perhaps,  half-way  down  the 
tubby  stomach.  It  wandered  round  the  room,  thumb  in 


THE  STORY  OF  MUHAMMAD  DIN. 


255 

mouth,  crooning  to  itself  as  it  took  stock  of  the  pictures. 
Undoubtedly  this  was  the  ''  little  son.  ’' 

He  had  no  business  in  my  room,  of  course  ; but  was 
so  deeply  absorbed  in  his  discoveries  that  he  never  noticed 
me  in  the  doorway.  I stepped  into  the  room  and  startled 
him  nearly  into  a fit.  He  sat  down  on  the  ground  with  a 
gasp.  His  eyes  opened,  and  his  mouth  followed  suit.  I 
knew  what  was  coming,  and  fled,  followed  by  a long, 
dry  howl  which  reached  the  servants'  quarters  far  more 
quickly  than  any  command  of  mine  had  ever  done.  In 
ten  seconds  Imam  Din  was  in  the  dining-room.  Then 
despairing  sobs  arose,  and  I returned  to  find  Imam  Din 
admonishing  the  small  sinner  who  was  using  most  of  his 
shirt  as  a handkerchief 

‘‘This  boy,’'  said  Imam  Din,  judicially,"  is  a budmash, 
a big  budmash.  He  will,  without  doubt,  go  to  the  jail- 
khana  for  his  behavior. " Renewed  yells  from  the  penitent, 
and  an  elaborate  apology  to  myself  from  Imam  Din. 

“Tell  the  baby,"  said  I,  “that  the  Sahib  is  not  angry, 
and  take  him  away."  Imam  Din  conveyed  my  forgive- 
ness to  the  offender,  who  had  now  gathered  all  his  shirt 
round  his  neck,  stringwise,  and  the  yell  subsided  into  a 
sob.  The  two  set  off  for  the  door.  “ His  name,"  said 
Imam  Din,  as  though  the  name  were  part  of  the  crime, 
“ is  Muhammad  Din,  and  he  is  a budmash.”  Freed  from 
present  danger,  Muhammad  Din  turned  round,  in  his 
father's  arms,  and  said  gravely: — “It  is  true  that  my 
name  is  Muhammad  Din,  Tahib,  but  I am  not  a budmash. 
I am  a man  ! " 

From  that  day  dated  my  acquaintance  with  Muhammad 
Din.  Never  again  did  he  come  into  my  dining-room, 
but  on  the  neutral  ground  of  the  compound,  we  greeted 
each  other  with  much  state,  though  our  conversation  was 
confined  to  Talaam^  Tahib  " from  his  side,  and  “ Salamm^ 


THE  STORY  OF  MUHAMMAD  DIN. 


256 

Muhammad  Din  ''  from  mine.  Daily  on  my  return  from 
office,  the  little  white  shirt,  and  the  fat  little  body  used  to 
rise  from  the  shade  of  the  creeper-covered  trellis  where 
they  had  been  hid ; and  daily  I checked  my  horse  here, 
that  my  salutation  might  not  be  slurred  over  or  given 
unseemly. 

Muhammad  Din  never  had  any  companions.  He  used 
to  trot  about  the  compound,  in  and  out  of  the  castor-oil 
bushes,  on  mysterious  errands  of  his  own.  One  day  I 
stumbled  upon  some  of  his  handiwork  far  down  the  grounds 
He  had  half  buried  the  polo-ball  in  dust,  and  stuck  six 
shrivelled  old  marigold  flowers  in  a circle  round  it.  Out- 
side that  circle  again,  was  a rude  square,  traced  out  in 
bits  of  red  brick  alternating  with  fragments  of  broken 
china  ; the  whole  bounded  by  a little  bank  of  dust.  The 
hhistie  from  the  well-curb  put  in  a plea  for  the  small 
architect,  saying  that  it  was  only  the  play  of  a baby  and 
did  not  much  disfigure  my  garden. 

Heaven  knows  that  I had  no  intention  of  touching 
the  child's  work  then  or  later;  but,  that  evening,  a 
stroll  through  the  garden  brought  me  unawares  full 
on  it  ; so  that  I trampled,  before  I knew,  marigold- 
heads,  dust-bank,  and  fragments  of  broken  soap-dish  into 
confusion  past  all  hope  of  mending.  Next  morning  I 
came  upon  Muhammad  Din  crying  softly  to  himself  over 
the  ruin  I had  wrought.  Some  one  had  cruelly  told  him 
that  the  Sahib  was  very  angry  with  him  for  spoiling  the 
garden,  and  had  scattered  his  rubbish  using  bad  language 
the  while.  Muhammad  Din  labored  for  an  hour  at  effac- 
ing every  trace  of  the  dust-bank  and  pottery  fragments, 
and  it  was  with  a tearful  and  apologetic  face  that  he  said, 

Talaam  Tahih,'"  when  I came  home  from  the  office.  A 
hasty  inquiry  resulted  in  Imam  Din  informing  Muham- 
mad Din  that  by  my  singular  favor  he  was  permitted  to 


THE  STORY  OF  MUHAMMAD  DIH. 


25r 


disport  himself  as  he  pleased.  Whereat  the  child  took 
heart  and  fell  to  tracing  the  ground-plan  of  an  edifice 
which  was  to  eclipse  the  marigold-polo-ball  creation. 

For  some  months,  the  chubby  little  eccentricity  re- 
volved in  his  humble  orbit  among  the  castor-oil  bushes 
and  in  the  dust  ; always  fashioning  magnificent  palaces 
from  stale  flowers  thrown  away  by  the  bearer,  smooth 
water-worn  pebbles,  bits  of  broken  glass,  and  feathers 
pulled,  I fancy,  from  my  fowls always  alone  and  al- 

ways crooning  to  himself. 

A gayly-spotted  sea-shell  was  dropped  one  day  close  to 
the  last  of  his  little  buildings  ; and  I looked  that  Muham- 
mad Din  should  build  something  more  than  ordinarily 
splendid  on  the  strength  of  it.  Nor  was  I disappointed. 
He  meditated  for  the  better  part  of  an  hour,  and  his  croon- 
ing rose  to  a jubilant  song.  Then  he  began  tracing  in 
dust.  It  would  certainly  be  a wondrous  palace,  this  one, 
for  it  was  two  yards  long  and  a yard  broad  in  ground- 
plan.  But  the  palace  was  never  completed. 

Next  day  there  was  no  Muhammad  Din  at  the  head  of 
the  carriage-drive,  and  no  Talaam  Tahib'’  to  welcome 
my  return.  I had  grown  accustomed  to  the  greeting, 
and  its  omission  troubled  me.  Next  day,  Imam  Din 
told  me  that  the  child  was  suffering  slightly  from  fever 
and  needed  quinine.  He  got  the  medicine,  and  an  Eng- 
lish Doctor. 

‘‘They  have  no  stamina,  these  brats,”  said  the  Doctor, 
as  he  left  Imam  Din  s quarters. 

A week  later,  though  I would  have  given  much  to 
have  avoided  it,  I met  on  the  road  to  the  Mussalman 
burying-ground  Imam  Din,  accompanied  by  one  other 
friend,  carying  in  his  arms,  wrapped  in  a white  cloth,  all 
that  was  left  of  little  Muhammad  Din, 


17 


258  ON  THE  STRENGTH  OF  A LIKENESS. 


ON  THE  STRENGTH  OF  A LIKENESS. 


If  your  mirror  be  broken,  look  into 
you  do  not  fall  in. 


still  water  ; but  have  a care  that 
Hindu  Proverb, 


Next  to  a requited  attachment,  one  of  the  most  con- 
venient things  that  a young  man  can  carry  about  with 
him  at  the  beginning  of  his  career,  is  an  unrequited 
attachment.  It  makes  him  feel  important  and  business- 
like, and  blase,  and  cynical ; and  whenever  he  has  a touch 
of  liver,  or  suffers  from  want  of  exercise,  he  can  mourn 
over  his  lost  love,  and  be  very  happy  in  a tender,  twilight 
fashion. 

Hannasyde’s  affair  of  the  heart  had  been  a Godsend  to 
him.  It  was  four  years  old,  and  the  girl  had  long  since 
given  up  thinking  of  it.  She  had  married  and  had  many 
cares  of  her  own.  In  the  beginning,  she  had  told  Hanna- 
syde  that,  while  she  could  never  be  anything  more  than 
a sister  to  him,  she  would  always  take  the  deepest  inter- 
est in  his  welfare.''  This  startlingly  new  and  original 
remark  gave  Hannasyde  something  to  think  over  for  two 
years ; and  his  own  vanity  filled  in  the  other  twenty-four 
months.  Hannasyde  was  quite  different  from  Phil  Gar- 
ron,  but,  none  the  less,  had  several  points  in  common 
with  that  far  too  lucky  man. 

He  kept  his  unrequited  attachment  by  him  as  men 
keep  a well-smoked  pipe — for  comfort's  sake,  and  because 
it  had  grown  dear  in  the  using.  It  brought  him  happily 


ON  THE  STRENGTH  OF  A LIKENESS. 


259 


through  the  Simla  season.  Hannasyde  was  not  lovely. 
There  was  a crudity  in  his  manners,  and  a roughness  in 
the  way  in  which  he  helped  a lady  on  to  her  horse,  that 
did  not  attract  the  other  sex  to  him.  Even  if  he  had  cast 
about  for  their  favor,  which  he  did  not.  He  kept  his 
wounded  heart  all  to  himself  for  a while. 

Then  trouble  came  to  him.  All  who  go  to  Simla,  know 
the  slope  from  the  Telegraph  to  the  Public  Works  Office. 
Hannasyde  was  loafing  up  the  hill,  one  September  morn- 
ing between  calling  hours,  when  a 'rickshaw  came 
down  in  a hurry,  and  in  the  Tickshaw  sat  the  living, 
breathing  image  of  the  girl  who  had  made  him  so 
happily  unhappy.  Hannasyde  leaned  against  the  rail- 
ings and  gasped.  Pie  wanted  to  run  down-hill  after 
the  'rickshaw,  but  that  was  impossible  ; so  he  went 
forward  with  most  of  his  blood  in  his  temples.  It  was 
impossible,  for  many  reasons,  that  the  woman  in  the 'rick- 
shaw could  be  the  girl  he  had  known.  She  was,  he  dis- 
covered later,  the  wife  of  a man  from  Dindigul,  or  Coimba- 
tore, or  some  out-of-the-way  place,  and  she  had  come  up  to 
Simla  early  in  the  season  for  the  good  of  her  health.  She 
was  going  back  to  Dindigul,  or  wherever  it  was,  at  the  end 
of  the  season;  and  in  all  likelihood  would  never  return  to 
Simla  again,  her  proper  Hill-station  being  Ootacamund. 
That  night,  Hannasyde,  raw  and  savage  from  the  raking  up 
of  all  old  feelings,  took  counsel  with  himself  for  one  meas- 
ured hour.  What  he  decided  upon  was  this  ; and  you 
must  decide  for  yourself  how  much  genuine  affection  for 
the  old  Love,  and  how  much  a very  natural  inclination  to 
go  abroad  and  enjoy  himself,  affected  the  decision.  Mrs. 
Landys-Haggert  would  never  in  all  human  likelihood 
cross  his  path  again.  So  whatever  he  did  didn’t  much 
matter.  She  was  marvellously  like  the  girl  who  took  a 
deep  interest”  and  the  rest  of  the  formula.  All  things 


26o  OJSr  THE  STRENGTH  OF  A LIKENESS, 

considered,  it  would  be  pleasant  to  make  the  acquaintance 
of  Mrs.  Landys-Haggert,  and  for  a little  time — only  a very 
little  time — to  make  believe  that  he  was  with  Alice  Chisane 
again.  Every  one  is  more  or  less  mad  on  one  point. 
Hannasyde’s  particular  monomania  was  his  old  love, 
Alice  Chisane. 

He  made  it  his  business  to  get  introduced  to  Mrs. 
Haggert,  and  the  introduction  prospered.  He  also  made 
it  his  business  to  see  as  much  as  he  could  of  that  lady. 
When  a man  is  in  earnest  as  to  interviews,  the  facilities 
which  Simla  offers  are  startling.  There  are  garden- 
parties,  and  tennis-parties,  and  picnics,  and  luncheons  at 
Annandale,  and  rifle-matches,  and  dinners  and  balls  ; 
besides  rides  and  walks,  which  are  matters  of  private 
arrangement.  Hannasyde  had  started  with  the  intention 
of  seeing  a likeness,  and  he  ended  by  doing  much  more. 
He  wanted  to  be  deceived,  he  meant  to  be  deceived,  and 
he  deceived  himself  very  thoroughly.  Not  only  were  the 
face  and  figure,  the  face  and  figure  of  Alice  Chisane,  but 
the  voice  and  lower  tones  were  exactly  the  same,  and  so 
were  the  turns  of  speech  ; and  the  little  mannerisms,  that 
every  woman  has,  of  gait  and  gesticulation,  were  abso- 
lutely and  identically  the  same.  The  turn  of  the  head 
was  the  same  ; the  tired  look  in  the  eyes  at  the  end  of  a 
long  walk  was  the  same  ; the  stoop  and  wrench  over  the 
saddle  to  hold  in  a pulling  horse  was  the  same  ; and  once, 
most  marvellous  of  all,  Mrs.  Landys-Haggert  singing  to 
herself  in  the  next  room,  while  Hannasyde  was  waiting 
to  take  her  for  a ride,  hummed,  note  for  note,  with  a 
throaty  quiver  of  the  voice  in  the  second  line  : — Poor 
Wandering  One!”  exactly  as  Alice  Chisane  had  hummed 
it  for  Hannasyde  in  the  dusk  of  an  English  drawing-room. 
In  the  actual  woman  herself — in  the  soul  of  her — there 
was  not  the  least  likeness  ; she  and  Alice  Chisane  being 


ON  THE  STRENGTH  OF  A LIKENESS.  261 

cast  in  different  moulds.  But  all  that  Hannasyde  wanted 
to  know  and  see  and  think  about,  was  this  maddening 
and  perplexing  likeness  of  face  and  voice  and  manner. 
He  was  bent  on  making  a fool  of  himself  that  way  ; and 
he  was  in  no  sort  disappointed. 

Open  and  obvious  devotion  from  any  sort  of  man  is 
always  pleasant  to  any  sort  of  woman  ; but  Mrs.  Landys- 
Haggert,  being  a woman  of  the  world,  could  make 
nothing  of  Hannasyde's  admiration. 

He  would  take  any  amount  of  trouble — he  was  a 
selfish  man  habitually — to  meet  and  forestall,  if  pos- 
sible, her  wishes.  Anything^  she  told  him  to  do  was 
law  ; and  he  was,  there  could  be  no  doubting  it,  fond  of 
her  company  so  long  as  she  talked  to  him,  and  kept 
on  talking  about  trivialities.  But  when  she  launched 
into  expression  of  her  personal  views  and  her  wrongs, 
those  small  social  differences  that  make  the  spice  of 
Simla  life  Hannasyde  was  neither  pleased  nor  interested. 
He  didn^t  want  to  know  anything  about  Mrs.  Landys- 
Haggert,  or  her  experiences  in  the  past— She  had  travelled 
nearly  all  over  the  world,  and  could  talk  cleverly— he 
wanted  the  likeness  of  Alice  Chisane  before  his  eyes  and 
her  voice  in  his  ears.  Anything  outside  that,  reminding 
him  of  another  personality  jarred,  and  he  showed  that  it 
did. 

Under  the  new  Post  Office,  one  evening,  Mrs.  Landys- 
Haggert  turned  on  him,  and  spoke  her  mind  shortly  and 
without  warning.  Mr.  Hannasyde,''  said  she,  will 
you  be  good  enough  to  explain  why  you  have  appointed 
yourself  my  special  cavalier  servente  P I don't  understand 
it.  But  I am  perfectly  certain,  somehow  or  other,  that  you 
don't  care  the  least  little  bit  in  the  world  for  me”  This 
seems  to  support,  by  the  way,  the  theory  that  no  man 
can  act  or  tell  lies  to  a woman  without  being  found  out 


262  ON  THE  STRENGTH  OF  A LIKENESS. 

Hannasyde  was  taken  off  his  guard.  His  defence  never 
was  a strong  one,  because  he  was  always  thinking  of 
himself,  and  he  blurted  out,  before  he  knev/  what  he  was 
saying,  this  inexpedient  answer  : — No  more  I do."' 

The  queerness  of  the  situation  and  the  reply,  made 
Mrs.  Landys-Haggert  laugh.  Then  it  all  came  out ; and 
at  the  end  of  Hannasyde's  lucid  explanation,  Mrs.  Haggert 
said,  with  the  least  little  touch  of  scorn  in  her  voice  : — 
‘‘  So  Tm  to  act  as  the  lay-figure  for  you  to  hang  the  rags 
of  your  tattered  affections  on,  am  I } '' 

Hannasyde  didn't  see  what  answer  was  required,  and 
he  devoted  himself  generally  and  vaguely  to  the  praise  of 
Alice  Chisane,  which  was  unsatisfactory.  Now  it  is  to 
be  thoroughly  made  clear  that  Mrs.  Haggert  had  not  the 
shadow  of  a ghost  of  an  interest  in  Hannasyde.  Only 
. . , . only  no  woman  likes  being  made  love  through 

instead  of  to specially  on  behalf  of  a musty  divinity  of 

four  years'  standing. 

Hannasyde  did  not  see  that  he  had  made  any  very 
particular  exhibition  of  himself.  He  was  glad  to  find  a 
sympathetic  soul  in  the  arid  wastes  of  Simla. 

When  the  season  ended,  Hannasyde  went  down  to  his 
own  place  and  Mrs.  Haggert  to  hers.  ‘‘  It  was  like 
making  love  to  a ghost,”  said  Hannasyde  to  himself, 
‘‘  and  it  doesn't  matter  ; and  now  Til  get  to  my  work.” 
But  he  found  himself  thinking  steadily  of  the  Haggert- 
Chisane  ghost ; and  he  could  not  be  certain  whether  it 
was  Haggert  or  Chisane  that  made  up  the  greater  part  of 
the  pretty  phantom. 

He  got  understanding  a month  later. 

A peculiar  point  of  this  peculiar  country  is  the  way  in 
which  a heartless  Government  transfers  men  from  one  end 
of  the  Empire  to  the  other.  You  can  never  be  sure  of 


ON  THE  STRENGTH  OF  A LIKENESS,  263 

getting  rid  of  a friend  or  an  enemy  till  he  or  she  dies. 
There  was  a case  once — ^but  thafs  another  story. 

Haggert's  Department  ordered  him  up  from  Dindigul  to 
the  Frontier  at  two  days'  notice,  and  he  went  through, 
losing  money  at  every  step,  from  Dindigul  to  his  station. 
He  dropped  Mrs.  Haggertat  Lucknow,  to  stay  with  some 
friends  there,  to  take  part  in  a big  ball  at  the  Chuttef 
Munzil,  and  to  come  on  when  he  had  made  the  new 
home  a little  comfortable.  Lucknow  was  Hannasyde  s 
station,  and  Mrs.  Haggert  stayed  a week  there.  Han- 
nasyde went  to  meet  her.  And  the  train  came  in,  he  dis- 
covered which  he  had  been  thinking  of  for  the  past 
month.  The  unwisdom  of  his  conduct  also  struck  him. 
The  Lucknow  week,  with  two  dances,  and  an  unlimited 
quantity  of  rides  together,  clinched  matters  ; and  Han- 
nasyde found  himself  pacing  this  circle  of  thought  : — 
He  adored  Alice  Chisane — at  least  he  had  adored  her 
And  he  admired  Mrs.  Landys-Haggert  because  she  was 
like  Alice  Chisane.  But  Mrs.  Landys-Haggert  was  not 
in  the  least  like  Alice  Chisane,  being  a thousand  times 
more  adorable.  Now  Alice  Chisane  was  “the  bride  of 
another,"  and  so  was  Mrs.  Landys-Haggert,  and  a good 
and  honest  wife  too.  Therefore,  he,  Hannasyde,  was 

here  he  called  himself  several  hard  names,  and 

wished  that  he  had  been  wise  in  the  beginning. 

Whether  Mrs.  Landys-Haggert  saw  what  was  going  on 
in  his  mind,  she  alone  knows.  He  seemed  to  take  an 
unqualified  interest  in  everything  connected  with  her- 
self, as  distinguished  from  the  Alice-Chisane  likeness, 
and  he  said  one  or  two  things  which,  if  Alice  Chisane 
had  been  still  betrothed  to  him,  could  scarcely  have  been 
excused,  even  on  the  grounds  of  the  likeness.  But  Mrs. 
Haggert  turned  the  remarks  aside,  and  spent  a long 
time  in  making  Hannasyde  see  what  a comfort  and 


264  ON  THE  STRENGTH  OF  A LIKENESS. 

a pleasure  she  had  been  to  him  because  of  her  strange 
resemblance  to  his  old  love.  Hannasyde  groaned  in 
his  saddle  and  said,  Yes,  indeed,*' and  busied  himself 
with  preparations  for  her  departure  to  the  Frontier,  feel- 
ing very  small  and  miserable. 

The  last  day  of  her  stay  at  Lucknow  came,  and  Han- 
nasyde saw  her  off  at  the  Railway  Station.  She  was  very 
grateful  for  his  kindness  and  the  trouble  he  had  taken, 
and  smiled  pleasantly  and  sympathetically  as  one  who 
knew  the  Alice-Chisane  reason  of  that  kindness.  And 
Hannasyde  abused  the  coolies  with  the  luggage,  and 
hustled  the  people  on  the  platform,  and  prayed  that  the 
roof  might  fall  in  and  slay  him. 

As  the  train  went  out  slowly,  Mrs.  Landys-Haggert 
leaned  out  of  the  window  to  say  good-bye  : — ‘‘  On  second 
thoughts  au  revoir^  Mr.  Hannasyde.  I go  Home  in  the 
Spring,  and  perhaps  I may  meet  you  in  Town.'’ 

Hannasyde  shook  hands,  and  said  very  earnestly  and 
adoringly  : — I hope  to  Heaven  I shall  never  see  your 
face  again  ! '’ 

And  Mrs.  Haggert  understood. 


ESS  LEY  ON  THE  FOREIGN  OFFICE,  265 


WRESSLEY  OF  THE  FOREIGN  OFFICE. 

I dosed  and  drew  for  my  love’s  sake, 

That  now  is  false  to  me, 

And  I slew  the  Riever  of  Tarrant  Moss, 

And  set  Dumeny  free. 

And  ever  they  give  me  praise  and  gold, 

And  ever  I moan  my  loss, 

For  I struck  the  blow  for  my  false  love’s  sake. 

And  not  for  the  men  at  the  Moss. 

Tarrant  Moss, 

One  of  the  many  curses  of  our  life  out  here  is  the 
want  of  atmosphere  in  the  painter  s sense.  There  are 
no  half-tints  worth  noticing.  Men  stand  out  all  crude 
and  raw,  with  nothing  to  tone  them  down,  and  nothing 
to  scale  them  against.  They  do  their  work,  and  grow 
to  think  that  there  is  nothing  but  their  work,  and 
nothing  like  their  work,  and  that  they  are  the  real  pivots 
on  which  the  administration  turns.  Here  is  an  instance 
of  this  feeling.  A half-caste  clerk  was  ruling  forms 
in  a Pay  Office.  He  said  to  me: — ‘‘Do  you  know 
what  would  happen  if  I added  or  took  away  one  single 
line  on  this  sheet  ''  Then,  with  the  air  of  a conspirator  : 
— “It  would  disorganize  the  whole  of  the  Treasury 
payments  throughout  the  whole  of  the  Presidency  Circle  I 
Think  of  that  ? 

If  men  had  not  this  delusion  as  to  the  ultra-importance 
of  their  own  particular  employments,  I suppose  that  they 
would  sit  down  and  kill  themselves.  But  their  weakness 


266  WRESSLEV  ON  THE  FOREIGN  OFFICE. 

is  wearisome,  particularly  when  the  listener  knows  that 
he  himself  commits  exactly  the  same  sin. 

Even  the  Secretariat  believes  that  it  does  good  when 
it  asks  an  over-driven  Executive  Officer  to  take  a census 
of  wheat-weevils  through  a district  of  five  thousand 
square  miles. 

There  was  a man  once  in  the  Foreign  Office — a man 
who  had  grown  middle-aged  in  the  department,  and  was 
commonly  said,  by  irreverent  juniors,  to  be  able  to  repeat 
Aitchison's  Treaties  and  '' backwards,  in  his 

sleep.  What  he  did  with  his  stored  knowledge  only  the 
Secretary  knew ; and  he,  naturally,  would  not  publish 
the  news  abroad.  This  man's  name  was  Wressley,  and 
it  was  the  Shibboleth,  in  those  days,  to  say  : — ‘‘Wress- 
ley knows  more  about  the  Central  Indian  States  than  any 
living  man."  If  you  did  not  say  this,  you  were  consid- 
ered one  of  mean  understanding. 

Now-a-days,  the  man  who  says  that  he  knows  the  ravel 
of  the  inter-tribal  complications  across  the  Border  is  of 
more  use ; but  in  Wressley's  time,  much  attention  was 
paid  to  the  Central  Indian  States.  They  were  called 
“ foci  " and  “ factors,"  and  all  manner  of  imposing  names. 

And  here  the  curse  of  Anglo-Indian  life  fell  heavily. 
When  Wressley  lifted  up  his  voice,  and  spoke  about 
such-and-such  a succession  to  such-and-such  a throne, 
the  Foreign  Office  were  silent,  and  Heads  of  Depart- 
ments repeated  the  last  two  or  three  words  of  Wressley's 
sentences,  and  tacked  “yes,  yes,"  on  to  them,  and  knew 
that  they  were  “assisting  the  Empire  to  grapple  with 
serious  political  contingencies."  In  most  big  undertak- 
ings, one  or  two  men  do  the  work  while  the  rest  sit  near 
and  talk  till  the  ripe  decorations  begin  to  fall. 

Wressley  was  the  working-member  of  the  Foreign 
Office  firm,  and,  to  keep  him  up  to  his  duties  when  he 


ESS  LEV  ON  THE  FOREIGN  OFFICE.  267 

showed  signs  of  flagging,  he  was  made  much  of  by  his 
superiors  and  told  what  a fine  fellow  he  was.  He  did 
not  require  coaxing,  because  he  was  of  tough  build,  but 
what  he  received  confirmed  him  in  the  belief  that  there 
was  no  one  quite  so  absolutely  and  imperatively  neces- 
sary to  the  stability  of  India  as  Wressley  of  the  Foreign 
Office.  There  might  be  other  good  men,  but  the  known, 
honored  and  trusted  man  among  men  was  Wressley  of 
the  Foreign  Office.  We  had  a Viceroy  in  those  days 
who  knew  exactly  when  to  ''gentle”  a fractious  big  man, 
and  to  hearten  up  a collar-galled  little  one,  and  so  keep 
all  his  team  level.  He  conveyed  to  Wressley  the  im- 
pression which  I have  just  set  down ; and  even  tough 
men  are  apt  to  be  disorganized  by  a Viceroy's  praise. 
There  was  a case  once but  that  is  another  story. 

All  India  knew  Wressley's  name  and  office — it  was  in 
Thacker  and  Spink's  Directory — but  who  he  was  person- 
ally, or  what  he  did,  or  what  his  special  merits  were, 
not  fifty  men  knew  or  cared.  His  work  filled  all  his 
time,  and  he  found  no  leisure  to  cultivate  acquaintances 
beyond  those  of  dead  Rajput  chiefs  with  Ahir  blots  in 
their  scutcheons.  Wressley  would  have  made  a very 
good  Clerk  in  the  Herald's  College  had  he  not  been  a 
Bengal  Civilian. 

Upon  a day,  between  office  and  office,  great  trouble 
came  to  Wressley — overwhelmed  him,  knocked  him 
down,  and  left  him  gasping  as  though  he  had  been  a 
little  school-boy.  Without  reason,  against  prudence,  and 
at  a moment's  notice,  he  fell  in  love  with  a frivolous, 
golden-haired  girl  who  used  to  tear  about  Simla  Mall  on 
a high,  rough  waler,  with  a blue  velvet  jockey-cap  cram- 
med over  her  eyes.  Her  name  was  Venner — Tillie  Ven- 
ner — and  she  was  delightful.  She  took  Wressley's  heart 
at  a hand-gallop,  and  Wressley  found  that  it  was  not 


268  WI^BSSLEY  ON  THE  FOREIGN  OFFICE. 

g-ood  for  man  to  live  alone  ; even  with  half  the  Foreign 
Office  Records  in  his  presses. 

Then  Simla  laughed,  for  Wressley  in  love  was  slightly 
ridiculous.  He  did  his  best  to  interest  the  girl  in  himself 
— that  is  to  say,  his  work — and  she,  after  the  manner  of 
women,  did  her  best  to  appear  interested  in  what,  be- 
hind his  back,  she  called  Mr.  Wressly's  Wajahs'' ; for 
she  lisped  very  prettily.  She  did  not  understand  one 
little  thing  about  them,  but  she  acted  as  if  she  did.  Men 
have  married  on  that  sort  of  error  before  now. 

Providence,  however,  had  care  of  Wressley.  He 
was  immensely  struck  with  Miss  Venner’s  intelligence. 
He  would  have  been  more  impressed  had  he  heard 
her  private  and  confidential  accounts  of  his  calls.  He 
held  peculiar  notions  as  to  the  wooing  of  girls.  He  said 
that  the  best  work  of  a man's  career  should  be  laid  rev- 
erently at  their  feet.  Ruskin  writes  something  like  this 
somewhere,  I think  ; but  in  ordinary  life  a few  kisses  are 
better  and  save  time. 

About  a month  after  he  had  lost  his  heart  to  Miss 
Venner,  and  had  been  doing  his  work  vilely  in  conse- 
quence, the  first  idea  of  his  Native  Rule  in  Central  India'* 
struck  Wressley  and  filled  him  with  joy.  It  was,  as  he 
sketched  it,  a great  thing — the  work  of  his  life — a really 
comprehensive  survey  of  a most  fascinating  subject — to 
be  written  with  all  the  special  and  laboriously  acquired 
knowledge  of  Wressley  of  the  Foreign  Office — a gift  fit  for 
an  Empress. 

He  told  Miss  Venner  that  he  was  going  to  take  leave, 
and  hoped,  on  his  return,  to  bring  her  a present  worthy 
of  her  acceptance.  Would  she  wait.^^  Certainly  she  would. 
Wressley  drew  seventeen  hundred  rupees  a month.  She 
would  wait  a year  for  that.  Her  Mamma  would  help  her 
to  wait. 


WRESSLEV  ON  THE  FOREIGN  OFFICE. 


269 

So  Wressley  took  one  year's  leave  and  all  the  available 
documents,  about  a truck-load,  that  he  could  lay  hands 
on,  and  went  down  to  Central  India  with  his  notion  hot 
in  his  head.  He  began  his  book  in  the  land  he  was  writ- 
ing of.  Too  much  official  correspondence  had  made  him 
a frigid  workman,  and  he  must  have  guessed  that  he 
needed  the  white  light  of  local  color  on  his  palette.  This 
is  a dangerous  paint  for  amateurs  to  play  with. 

Heavens, how  that  man  worked  ! He  caught  his  Rajahs, 
analyzed  his  Rajahs,  and  traced  them  up  into  the  mists  of 
Time  and  beyond,  with  their  queens  and  their  concubines. 
He  dated  and  cross-dated,  pedigreed  and  triple-pedigreed, 
compared,  noted,  connoted,  wove,  strung,  sorted,  selected, 
inferred,  calendared  and  counter-calendared  for  ten  hours 
a day.  And,  because  this  sudden  and  new  light  of  Love 
was  upon  him,  he  turned  those  dry  bones  of  history  and 
dirty  records  of  misdeeds  into  things  to  weep  or  to  laugh 
over  as  he  pleased.  His  heart  and  soul  were  at  the  end 
of  his  pen,  and  they  got  into  the  ink.  He  was  dowered 
with  sympathy,  insight,  humor  and  style  for  two  hundred 
and  thirty  days  and  nights  ; and  his  book  was  a Book. 
He  had  his  vast  special  knowledge  with  him,  so  to  speak  ; 
but  the  spirit,  the  woven-in  human  Touch,  the  poetry  and 
the  power  of  the  output,  were  beyond  all  special  know- 
ledge. But  I doubt  whether  he  knew  the  gift  that  was  in 
him  then,  and  thus  he  may  have  lost  some  happiness. 
He  was  toiling  for  Tillie  Venner,  not  for  himself.  Men 
often  do  their  best  work  blind,  for  some  one  else's  sake. 

Also,  though  this  has  nothing  to  do  with  the  story,  in 
India  where  everyone  knows  every  one  else,  you  can 
watch  men  being  driver,  by  the  women  who  govern 
them,  out  of  the  rank-and-file  and  sent  to  take  up  points 
alone.  A good  man,  once  started,  goes  forward  ; but  an 
average  man,  so  soon  as  the  woman  loses  interest  in  his 


2^0 


WRESSLEY  ON  THE  FOREIGN  OFFICE. 


success  as  a tribute  to  her  power,  comes  back  to  the  bah 
talion  and  is  no  more  heard  of. 

Wressley  bore  the  first  copy  of  his  book  to  Simla  and, 
blushing  and  stammering,  presented  it  to  Miss  Venner. 
She  read  a little  of  it.  I give  her  review  verhathn  : — ‘'Oh, 
your  book  } Ifs  all  about  those  how-wid  Wajahs.  I 
didn't  understand  it." 


Wresstey  ofthe  Foreign  Office  was  broken,  smashed, — I 
am  not  exaggerating — by  this  one  frivolous  little  girl.  All 
that  he  could  say  feebly  was  : — “ But — but  it's  my  mag- 
num  opus  / The  work  of  my  life."  Miss  Venner  did  not 
know  what  magnum  opus  meant  ; but  she  knew  that 
Captain  Kerrington  had  won  three  races  at  the  last  Gym- 
khana. Wressley  didn't  press  her  to  wait  for  him  any 
longer.  He  had  sense  enough  for  that. 

Then  came  the  reaction  after  the  year’s  strain,  and  Wress- 
ley went  back  to  the  Foreign  Office  and  his  “Wajahs," 
a compiling,  gazetteering,  report-writing  hack,  who  would 
have  been  dear  at  three  hundred  rupees  a month.  He 
abided  by  Miss  Venner's  review.  Which  proves  that  the 
inspiration  in  the  book  was  purely  temporary  and  uncon- 
nected with  himself  Nevertheless,  he  had  no  right  to 
sink,  in  a hill-tarn,  five  packing-cases,  brought  up  at 
enormous  expense  from  Bombay,  of  the  best  book  of  In- 
dian history  ever  written. 

When  he  sold  off  before  retiring,  some  years  later,  I 
was  turning  over  his  shelves,  and  came  across  the  only 
existing  copy  of  “ Native  Rule  in  Central  India  " — the 
copy  that  Miss  Venner  could  not  understand.  I read 
it,  sitting  on  his  mule-trunks,  as  long  as  the  light 
lasted,  and  offered  him  his  own  price  for  it.  He  looked 
over  my  shoulder  for  a few  pages  and  said  to  himself 
drearily  ; — 


WRESSLEY  ON  THE  FOREIGN  OFFICE, 


271 

‘‘Now,  how  in  the  world  did  I come  to  write  such 
damned  good  stuff  as  that  ? '' 

Then  to  me  : — 

“ Take  it  and  keep  it.  Write  one  of  your  penny- farth- 
ing yarns  about  its  birth.  Perhaps — perhaps — the  whole 
business  may  have  been  ordained  to  that  end.” 

Which,  knowing  what  Wressley  of  the  Foreign  Office 
was  once,  struck  me  as  about  the  bitterevSt  thing  that  I 
had  ever  heard  a man  say  of  his  own  work 


272 


BY  WORD  OF  MOUTH, 


BY  WORD  OF  MOUTH. 

Not  though  you  die  to-night,  O Sweet,  and  wail, 

A spectre  at  my  door, 

Shall  mortal  P^ear  make  Love  immortal  fail — 

I shall  but  love  you  more, 

Who,  from  Death’s  house  returning,  give  me  still 
One  moment’s  comfort  in  my  matchless  ill. 

Shadow  Houses. 

This  tale  may  be  explained  by  those  who  know  how 
souls  are  made,  and  where  the  bounds  of  the  Possible 
are  put  down.  I have  lived  long  enough  in  this  country 
to  know  that  it  is  best  to  know  nothing,  and  can  only 
write  the  story  as  it  happened. 

Dumoise  was  our  Civil  Surgeon  at  Meridki,  and  we 
called  him  ‘‘Dormouse,'’  because  he  was  a round  little, 
sleepy  little  man.  He  was  a good  Doctor  and  never 
quarrelled  with  any  one.  not  even  with  our  Deputy  Com- 
missioner, who  had  the  manners  of  a bargee  and  the  tact 
of  a horse.  He  married  a girl  as  round  and  as  sleepy- 
looking  as  himself.  She  was  a Miss  Hillardyce,  daugh- 
ter of  “Squash”  Hillardyce  of  the  Berars,  who  married 
his  Chiefs  daughter  by  mistake.  But  that  is  another 
story. 

A honeymoon  in  India  is  seldom  more  than  a week 
long  ; but  there  is  nothing  to  hinder  a couple  from  ex- 
tending it  over  two  or  three  years.  This  is  a delightful 
country  for  married  folk  who  are  wrapped  up  in  one 
another.  They  can  live  absolutely  alone  and  without 
interruption — just  as  the  Dormice  did.  These  two  little 
people  retired  from  the  world  after  their  marriage,  and 


BV  WORD  OP  MOUTH. 


273 


were  very  happy.  They  were  forced,  of  course,  to  give 
occasional  dinners,  but  they  made  no  friends  hereby,  and 
the  Station  went  its  own  way  and  forgot  them  ; only 
saying,  occasionally,  that  Dormouse  was  the  best  of  good 
fellows,  though  dull.  A Civil  Surgeon  who  never  quarrels 
is  a rarety,  appreciated  as  such. 

Few  people  can  afford  to  play  Robinson  Crusoe  any- 
where— least  of  all  in  India,  where  we  are  few  in  the 
land,  and  very  much  dependent  on  each  others'  kind 
offices.  Dumoise  was  wrong  in  shutting  himself  from 
the  world  for  a year,  and  he  discovered  his  mistake 
when  an  epidemic  of  typhoid  broke  out  in  the  Station 
in  the  heart  of  the  cold  weather,  and  his  wife  went 
down.  He  was  a shy  little  man,  and  five  days  were 
wasted  before  he  realized  that  Mrs.  Dumoise  was  burn- 
ing with  something  worse  than  simple  fever,  and  three 
days  more  passed  before  he  ventured  to  call  on  Mrs. 
Shute,  the  Engineers  wife,  and  timidly  speak  about  his 
trouble.  Nearly  every  household  in  India  knows  that 
Doctors  are  very  helpless  in  typhoid.  The  battle  must 
be  fought  out  between  Death  and  the  Nurses,  minute  by 
minute  and  degree  by  degree.  Mrs.  Shute  almost  boxed 
Dumoise's  ears  for  what  she  called  his  ''criminal  delay," 
and  went  off  at  once  to  look  after  the  poor  girl.  We 
had  seven  cases  of  typhoid  in  the  Station  that  winter 
and,  as  the  average  of  death  is  about  one  in  every  five 
cases,  we  felt  certain  that  we  should  have  to  lose  some- 
body. But  all  did  their  best.  The  women  sat  up  nurs- 
ing the  women,  and  the  men  turned  to  and  tended  the 
bachelors  who  were  down,  and  we  wrestled  with  those 
typhoid  cases  for  fifty-six  days,  and  brought  them  through 
the  Valley  of  the  Shadow  in  triumph.  But,  just  when  we 
thought  all  was  over,  and  were  going  to  give  a dance  to 
celebrate  the  victory,  little  Mrs.  Dumoise  got  a relapse 


274 


BY  WORD  OF  MOUTH. 


and  died  in  a week  and  the  Station  went  to  the  funeral. 
Dumoise  broke  down  utterly  at  the  brink  of  the  grave,  and 
had  to  be  taken  away. 

After  the  death,  Dumoise  crept  into  his  own  house  and 
refused  to  be  comforted.  He  did  his  duties  perfectly,  but 
we  all  felt  that  he  should  go  on  leave,  and  the  other  men 
of  his  own  Service  told  him  so.  Dumoise  was  very  thank- 
ful for  the  suggestion — he  was  thankful  for  anything  in 
those  days — and  went  to  Chini  on  a walking-tour.  Chini 
is  some  twenty  marches  from  Simla,  in  the  heart  of  the 
Hills,  and  the  scenery  is  good  if  you  are  in  trouble.  You 
pass  through  big,  still  deodar-forests,  and  under  big,  still 
cliffs,  and  over  big,  still  grass-downs  swelling  like  a 
woman  s breasts  ; and  the  wind  across  the  grass,  and  the 
rain  among  the  deodars  says: — '‘Hush — hush — hush."' 
So  little  Dumoise  was  packed  off  to  Chini,  to  wear  down 
his  grief  with  a full-plate  camera,  and  a rifle.  He  took 
also  a useless  bearer,  because  the  man  had  been  his  wife's 
favorite  servant.  He  was  idle  and  a thief,  but  Dumoise 
trusted  everything  to  him. 

On  his  way  back  from  Chini,  Dumoise  turned  aside  to 
Bagi,  through  the  Forest  Reserve  which  is  on  the  spur  of 
Mount  Huttoo.  Some  men  who  have  travelled  more  than 
a little  say  that  the  march  from  Kotegarh  to  Bagi  is  one 
of  the  finest  in  creation.  It  runs  through  dark  wet  forest, 
and  ends  suddenly  in  bleak,  nipped  hill-side  and  black 
rocks.  Bagi  dak-bungalow  is  open  to  all  the  winds  and 
is  bitterly  cold.  Few  people  go  to  Bagi.  Perhaps  that 
was  the  reason  why  Dumoise  went  there.  He  halted  at 
seven  in  the  evening,  and  his  bearer  went  down  the  hill- 
side to  the  village  to  engage  coolies  for  the  next  day's 
march.  The  sun  had  set,  and  the  night-winds  were  begin- 
ning to  croon  among  the  rocks.  Dumoise  leaned  on  the 
railing  of  the  verandah,  waiting  for  his  bearer  to  return. 


BY  WORD  OF  MOUTH, 


275 


The  man  came  back  almost  immediately  after  he  had  dis- 
appeared, and  at  such  a rate  that  Dumoise  fancied  he 
must  have  crossed  a bear.  He  was  running  as  hard  as  he 
could  up  the  face  of  the  hill. 

But  there  was  no  bear  to  account  for  his  terror.  He 
raced  to  the  verandah  and  fell  down,  the  blood  spurting 
from  his  nose  and  his  face  iron-gray.  Then  he  gurgled  : 
— have  seen  iliQ  Memsahib ! I have  seen  ihe  Me7n- 
sahib! 

‘‘Where.? ''  said  Dumoise. 

“ Down  there,  walking  on  the  road  to  the  village.  She 
was  in  a blue  dress,  and  she  lifted  the  veil  of  her  bonnet 
and  said: — ‘Ram  Dass,  give  my  salaams  to  the  Sahib, 
and  tell  him  that  I shall  meet  him  next  month  at  Nuddea. ' 
Then  I ran  away,  because  I was  afraid.'' 

What  Dumoise  said  or  did  I do  not  know.  Ram  Dass 
declares  that  he  said  nothing,  but  walked  up  and  down 
the  verandah  all  the  cold  night,  waiting  for  the  Memsahib 
to  come  up  the  hill  and  stretching  out  his  arms  into  the 
dark  like  a madman.  But  no  Memsahib  came,  and,  next 
day,  he  went  on  to  Simla  cross-questioning  the  bearer 
every  hour. 

Ram  Dass  could  only  say  that  he  had  met  Mrs.  Dumoise 
and  that  she  had  lifted  up  her  veil  and  given  him  the 
message  which  be  had  faithfully  repeated  to  Dumoise. 
To  this  statement  Ram  Dass  adhered.  He  did  not  know 
where  Nuddea  was,  had  no  friends  at  Nuddea,  and  would 
most  certainly  never  go  to  Nuddea  ; even  though  his  pay 
were  doubled. 

Nuddea  is  in  Bengal,  and  has  nothing  whatever  to  do 
with  a Doctor  serving  in  the  Punjab.  It  must  be  more 
than  twelve  hundred  miles  from  Meridki. 

Dumoise  went  through  Simla  without  halting,  and  re- 
turned to  Meridki  there  to  take  over  charge  from  the 


BY  WOBB  OF  MOUTH, 


276 

man  who  had  been  officiating  for  him  during  his  tour. 
There  were  some  Dispensary  accounts  to  be  explained, 
and  some  recent  orders  of  the  Surgeon-General  to  be 
noted,  and,  altogether,  the  taking-over  was  a full  day's 
work.  In  the  evening,  Dumoise  told  his  locum  ienens, 
who  was  an  old  friend  of  his  bachelor  days,  what  had 
happened  at  Bagi ; and  the  man  said  that  Ram  Dass 
might  as  well  have  chosen  Tuticorin  while  he  was  about 
it. 

At  that  moment,  a telegraph-peon  came  in  with  a tele- 
gram from  Simla,  ordering  Dumoise  not  to  take  over 
charge  at  Meridki,  but  to  go  at  once  to  Nuddea  on  special 
duty.  There  was  a nasty  outbreak  of  cholera  at  Nuddea, 
and  the  Bengal  Government,  being  shorthanded,  as  usual, 
had  borrowed  a Surgeon  from  the  Punjab. 

Dumoise  threw  the  telegram  across  the  table  and 
said  :_-Well.?" 

The  other  Doctor  said  nothing.  It  was  all  that  he 
could  say. 

Then  he  remembered  that  Dumoise  had  passed  through 
Simla  on  his  way  from  Bagi  ; and  thus  might,  possibly, 
have  heard  first  news  of  the  impending  transfer. 

He  tried  to  put  the  question,  and  he  implied  suspicion 
into  words,  but  Dumoise  stopped  him  with  : — ‘‘If  I had 
desired  that,  I should  never  have  come  back  from  Chini. 

I was  shooting  there.  I wish  to  live,  for  I have  things  to 
do  ...  . but  I shall  not  be  sorry." 

The  other  man  bowed  his  head,  and  helped,  in  the  twi- 
light, to  pack  up  Dumoise’s  just  opened  trunks.  Ram 
Dass  entered  with  the  lamps. 

“Where  is  the  Sahib  going.?  " he  asked. 

“To  Nuddea,"  said  Dumoise  softly. 

Ram  Dass  clawed  Dumoise's  knees  and  boots  and 
begged  him  not  to  go.  Ram  Dass  wept  and  howled  till 


BV  WORD  OF  MOUTH. 


277 


he  was  turned  out  of  the  room.  Then  he  wrapped  up  all 
his  belongings  and  came  back  to  ask  for  a character. 
He  was  not  going  to  Nuddea  to  see  his  Sahib  die,  and, 
perhaps  to  die  himself. 

So  Dumoise  gave  the  man  his  wages  and  went  down 
to  Nuddea  alone  ; the  other  Doctor  bidding  him  good-bye 
as  one  under  sentence  of  death. 

Eleven  days  later,  he  had  joined  his  Memsahib ; and 
the  Bengal  Government  had  to  borrow  a fresh  Doctor  to 
cope  with  that  epidemic  at  Nuddea.  The  first  importation 
lay  dead  in  Chooadanga  Dak-Bungalow. 


278 


TO  BE  FILED  FOR  REFERENCE. 


TO  BE  FILED  FOE  REFERENCE 

By  the  hoof  of  the  Wild  Goat  up -tossed 
From  the  Cliff  where  She  lay  in  the  Sun, 

Fell  the  Stone 

To  the  Tarn  where  the  daylight  is  lost ; 

So  She  fell  from  the  light  of  the  Sun, 

And  alone. 

Now  the  fall  vas  ordained  from  the  first. 

With  the  Goat  and  the  Cliff  and  the  Tarn, 

But  the  Stone 

Knows  only  Her  life  is  accursed. 

As  She  sinks  in  the  depths  of  the  Tarn, 

And  alone. 

Oh,  Thou  who  hast  builded  the  world 
Oh,  Thou  who  hast  lighted  the  Sun  ! 

Oh,  Thou  who  hast  darkened  the  Tarn ! 

Judge  Thou 

The  sin  of  the  Stone  that  was  hurled 
By  the  Goat  from  the  light  of  the  Sun, 

As  She  sinks  in  the  mire  of  the  Tarn, 

Even  now — even  now — even  now  ! 

From  the  Unpublished  Papers  of  McIntosh  yellaludin* 


Say  is  it  dawn,  is  it  dusk  in  thy  Bower, 

Thou  whom  I long*  for,  who  longest  for  me  ? 

Oh  be  it  night — be  it '' 

Here  he  fell  over  a little  camel-colt  that  was  sleeping 
in  the  Serai  where  the  horse-traders  and  the  best  of  the 
blackguards  from  Central  Asia  live ; and,  because  he 
was  very  drunk  indeed  and  the  night  was  dark,  he  could 
not  rise  again  till  I helped  him.  That  was  the  begin- 
ning of  my  acquaintance  with  McIntosh  Jellaludin. 
When  a loafer,  and  drunk,  sings  The  Song  of  the  Bower, 
he  must  be  worth  cultivating.  He  got  off  the  camels 


TO  BE  FILED  FOR  REFERENCE. 


279 


back  and  said,  rather  thickly  : — ‘‘I — I — Fmabit  screwed, 
but  a dip  in  Loggerhead  will  put  me  right  again  ; and,  I 
say,  have  you  spoken  to  Symonds  about  the  mare's 
knees  ? " 

Now  Loggerhead  was  six  thousand  weary  miles  away 
from  us,  close  to  Mesopotamia,  where  you  mustn't  fish 
and  poaching  is  impossible,  and  Charley  Symonds'  stable 
a half  mile  further  across  the  paddocks.  It  was  strange 
to  hear  all  the  old  names,  on  a May  night,  among  the 
horses  and  camels  of  the  Sultan  Caravanserai.  Then  the 
man  seemed  to  remember  himself  and  sober  down  at  the 
same  time.  He  leaned  against  the  camel  and  pointed 
to  a corner  of  the  Serai  where  a lamp  was  burning  : — 

''  I live  there,"  said  he,  ''and  I should  be  extremely 
obliged  if  you  would  be  good  enough  to  help  my  mu- 
tinous feet  thither  ; for  I am  more  than  usually  drunk- 
most — most  phenomenally  tight.  But  not  in  respect  to 
my  head.  ' My  brain  cries  out  against ' — how  does  it 

go  .?  But  my  head  rides  on  the rolls  on  the  dung-hill 

I should  have  said,  and  controls  the  qualm." 

I helped  him  through  the  gangs  of  tethered  horses  and 
he  collapsed  on  the  edge  of  the  verandah  in  front  of  the 
line  of  native  quarters. 

"Thanks — a thousand  thanks!  O Moon  and  little, 
little  Stars  1 To  think  that  a man  should  so  shameless- 
ly.... Infamous  liquor,  too.  Ovid  in  exile  drank  no 
worse.  Better.  It  was  frozen.  Alas  1 I had  no  ice. 
Good-night.  I would  introduce  you  to  my  wife  were  I 
sober — or  she  civilized. " 

A native  woman  came  out  of  the  darkness  of  the  room, 
and  began  calling  the  man  names  ; so  I went  away.  He 
was  the  most  interesting  loafer  that  I had  had  the  pleas- 
ure of  knowing  for  a long  time  ; and  later  on,  he  became 
a friend  of  mine.  He  was  a tall,  well-built,  fair  man 


28o  to  be  filed  for  reference. 

fearfully  shaken  with  drink,  and  he  looked  nearer  fifty 
than  the  thirty-five  which,  he  said,  was  his  real  age. 
When  a man  begins  to  sink  in  India,  and  is  not  sent 
Home  by  his  friends  as  soon  as  may  be,  he  falls  very 
low  from  a respectable  point  of  view.  By  the  time  that 
he  changes  his  creed,  as  did  McIntosh,  he  is  past  re- 
demption. 

In  most  big  cities,  natives  will  tell  you  of  two  or  three 
Sahibs,  generally  low-caste,  who  have  turned  Hindu  or 
Mussulman,  and  who  live  more  or  less  as  such.  But  it  is 
not  often  that  you  can  get  to  know  them.  As  McIntosh 
himself  used  to  say  : — If  I change  my  religion  for  my 
stomach’s  sake,  I do  not  seek  to  become  a martyr  to 
missionaries,  nor  am  I anxious  for  notoriety.  ” 

At  the  outset  of  acquaintance  McIntosh  warned  me  . 
‘'Remember  this.  I am  not  an  object  for  charity.  I 
require  neither  your  money,  your  food,  nor  your  cast- 
off raiment.  I am  that  rare  animal,  a self-supporting 
drunkard.  It  you  choose,  I will  smoke  with  you,  for 
the  tobacco  of  the  bazars  does  not,  I admit,  suit  my 
palate  ; and  I will  borrow  any  books  which  you  may 
not  specially  value.  It  is  more  than  likely  that  I shall 
sell  them  for  bottles  of  excessively  filthy  country-liquors. 
In  return,  you  shall  share  such  hospitality  as  my  house 
affords.  Here  is  a charpoy  on  which  two  can  sit,  and 
it  is  possible  that  there  may,  from  time  to  time,  be  food 
in  that  platter.  Drink,  unfortunately,  you  will  find  on 
the  premises  at  any  hour  : and  thus  I make  you  wel- 
come to  all  my  poor  establishments.’’ 

I was  admitted  to  the  McIntosh  household — I and 
my  good  tobacco.  But  nothing  else.  Unluckily,  one 
cannot  visit  a loafer  in  the  Serai  by  day.  Friends  buy- 
ing horses  would  not  understand  it.  Consequently,  I 
was  obliged  to  see  McIntosh  after  dark.  He  laughed 


TO  BE  FILED  FOR  REFERENCE.  281 

at  this>  and  said  simply  : — ''  You  are  perfectly  right. 
When  I enjoyed  a position  in  society,  rather  higher 
then  yours,  I should  have  done  exactly  the  same  thing, 
Good  Heavens  ! I was  once '' — he  spoke  as  though  he 
had  fallen  from  the  Command  of  a Regiment — ‘^an 
Oxford  Man  ! ''  This  accounted  for  the  reference  to 
Charley  Symonds'  stable. 

‘‘  You,''  said  McIntosh,  slowly,  have  not  had  that 
advantage  ; but,  to  outward  appearance,  you  do  not 
seem  possessed  of  a craving  for  strong  drinks.  On  the 
whole,  I fancy  that  you  are  the  luckier  of  the  two. 
Yet  I am  not  certain.  You  are — forgive  my.  saying  so 
even  while  I am  smoking  your  excellent  tobacco — pain- 
fully ignorant  of  many  things." 

We  were  sitting  together  on  the  eage  of  his  bedstead, 
for  he  owned  no  chairs,  watching  the  horses  being 
watered  for  the  night,  while  the  native  woman  was 
preparing  dinner.  I^did  not  like  being  patronized  by  a 
loafer,  but  I was  his  guest  for  the  time  being,  though 
he  owned  only  one  very  torn  alpaca-coat  and  a pair  of 
trousers  made  out  of  gunny-bags.  He  took  the  pipe 
out  of  his  mouth,  and  went  on  judicially  : — All  things 
considered,  I doubt  whether  you  are  the  luckier.  I do 
not  refer  to  your  extremely  limited  classical  attain- 
ments, or  your  excruciating  quantities,  but  to  your 
gross  ignorance  of  matters  more  immediately  under 
your  notice.  That  for  instance." — He  pointed  to  a 
woman  cleaning  a samovar  near  the  well  in  the  centre 
of  the  Serai.  She  was  flicking  the  water  out  of  the 
spout  in  regular  cadenced  jerks. 

‘‘  There  are  ways  and  ways  of  cleaning  samovars. 
If  you  knew  why  she  was  doing  her  work  in  that  partic- 
ular fashion,  you  would  know  what  the  Spanish  Monk 
meant  when  he  said — 


282 


TO  BE  FILED  FOR  REFERENCE. 


‘I  the  Trinity  illustrate, 

Drinking  watered  orange-pulp — 

In  three  sips  the  Aryan  frustrate, 
While  he  drains  his  at  one  gulp  ' — 


and  many  other  things  which  now  are  hidden  from  your 
eyes.  However,  Mrs.  McIntosh  has  prepared  dinner. 
Let  us  come  and  eat  after  the  fashion  of  the  people  of 
the  country — of  whom,  by  the  way,  you  know  nothing.” 

The  native  woman  dipped  her  hand  in  the  dish  with 
us.  This  was  wrong.  The  wife  should  always  wait 
until  the  husband  has  eaten.  McIntosh  Jellaludin 
apologized,  saying  : — 

It  is  an  English  prejudice  which  I have  not  been 
able  to  overcome ; and  she  loves  me.  Why  I have  never 
been  able  to  understand.  I foregathered  with  her  at 
Jullundur,  three  years  ago,  and  she  has  remained  with 
me  ever  since.  I believe  her  to  be  moral,  and  know  her 
to  be  skilled  in  cookery.” 

He  patted  the  woman's  head  as  he  spoke,  and  she 
cooed  softly.  She  was  not  pretty  to  look  at. 

McIntosh  never  told  me  what  position  he  had  held 
before  his  fall.  He  was,  when  sober,  a scholar  and  a 
gentleman.  When  drunk,  he  was  rather  more  of  the  first 
than  the  second.  He  used  to  get  drunk  about  once  a 
week  for  two  days.  On  those  occasions  the  native  wo- 
man tended  him  while  he  raved  in  all  tongues  except  his 
own.  One  day,  indeed,  he  began  reciting  Atalanta  in 
Calydon,  and  went  through  it  to  the  end,  beating  time  to 
the  swing  of  the  verse  with  a bedstead-leg.  But  he  did 
most  of  his  ravings  in  Greek  or  German.  The  man's 
mind  was  a perfect  rag-bag  of  useless  things.  Once, 
when  he  was  beginning  to  get  sober,  he  told  me  that  I 
was  the  only  rational  being  in  the  Inferno  into  which  he 
had  descended — a Virgil  in  the  Shades,  he  said — and  that, 


TO  BE  FILED  FOR  REFERENCE.  283 

in  return  for  my  tobacco,  he  would,  before  he  died,  give 
me  the  materials  of  a new  Inferno  that  should  make  me 
greater  than  Dante.  Then  he  fell  asleep  on  a horse- 
blanket  and  woke  up  quite  calm. 

''  Man,'’  said  he,  when  you  have  reached  the  utter- 
most depths  of  degradation,  little  incidents  which  would 
vex  a higher  life,  are  to  you  of  no  consequence.  Last 
night,  my  soul  was  among  the  gods  ; but  I make  no 
doubt  that  my  bestial  body  was  writhing  down  here  in 
the  garbage. " 

‘‘You  were  abominably  drunk  if  that's  what  you 
mean,"  I said. 

“ I was  drunk — filthily  drunk.  I who  am  the  son  of  a 
man  with  whom  you  have  no  concern — I who  was  once 
Fellow  of  a College  whose  buttery-hatch  you  have  not 
seen.  I was  loathsomely  drunk.  But  consider  how 
lightly  I am  touched.  It  is  nothing  to  me.  Less  than 
nothing  ; for  I do  not  even  feel  the  headache  which 
should  be  my  portion.  Now,  in  a higher  life,  how 
ghastly  would  have  been  my  punishment  how  bitter  my 
repentance  ! Believe  me,  my  friend  with  the  neglected 
education,  the  highest  is  as  the  lowest — always  supposing 
each  degree  extreme." 

He  turned  round  on  the  blanket  put  his  head  between 
his  fists  and  continued  : — 

“On  the  Soul  which  I have  lost  and  on  the  Conscience 
which  I have  killed,  I tell  you  that  I cannot  feel  ! I am 
as  the  gods,  knowing  good  and  evil,  but  untouched  by 
either.  Is  this  enviable  or  is  it  not } " 

When  a man  has  lost  the  warning  of  “next  morning's 
head,"  he  must  be  in  a bad  state,  I answered,  looking 
at  McIntosh  on  the  blanket,  with  his  hair  over  his  eyes 
and  his  lips  blue-white,  that  I did  not  think  the  insensi- 
bility good  enough. 


284  FILED  FOR  REFERENCE, 

‘‘For  pity's  sake,  don't  say  that!  I tell  you,  it  is  good 
and  most  enviable.  Think  of  my  consolations  1 " 

‘'Have  you  so  many,  then,  McIntosh " 

“ Certainly  ; your  attempts  at  sarcasm  which  is 
essentially  the  weapon  of  a cultured  man,  are  crude. 
First,  my  attainments,  my  classical  and  literary  knowl- 
edge, blurred,  perhaps,  by  immoderate  drinking — which 
reminds  me  that  before  my  soul  went  to  the  Gods  last 
night,  I sold  the  Pickering  Horace  you  so  kindly  lent 
me.  Ditta  Mull  the  clothesman  has  it.  It  fetched  ten 
annas,  and  may  be  redeemed  for  a rupee — but  still  in- 
finitely superior  to  yours.  Secondly,  the  abiding  affec- 
tion of  Mrs.  McIntosh,  best  of  wives.  Thirdly,  a monu- 
ment, more  enduring  than  brass,  which  I have  built  up 
in  the  seven  years  of  my  degradation." 

He  stopped  here,  and  crawled  across  the  room  for  a 
drink  of  water.  He  was  very  shaky  and  sick. 

He  referred  several  times  to  his  “treasure" — some 
great  possession  that  he  owned — but  I held  this  to  be 
the  raving  of  drink.  He  was  as  poor  and  as  proud 
as  he  could  be.  His  manner  was  not  pleasant,  but  he 
knew  enough  about  the  natives,  among  whom  seven 
years  of  his  life  had  been  spent,  to  make  his  acquaint- 
ance  w^orth. having.  He  used  actually  to  laugh  at  Strick- 
land as  an  ignorant  man — “ignorant  West  and  East" 
— he  said.  His  boast  was,  first,  that  he  was  an  Oxford 
Man  of  rare  and  shining  parts,  which  may  or  may  not 
have  been  true — I did  not  know  enough  to  check  his 
statements — and,  secondly,  that  he  “had  his  hand  on 
the  pulse  of  native  life  " — which  was  a fact.  As  an  Ox- 
ford man,  he  struck  me  as  a prig  : he  was  always  throw- 
ing his  education  about.  As  a Mahommedan  faquir — 
as  McIntosh  Jellaludin — he  was  all  that  I wanted  for  my 
own  ends.  He  smoked  several  pounds  of  my  tobacco, 


TO  BE  FILED  FOR  REFERENCE.  285 

and  taught  me  several  ounces  of  things  worth  knowing ; 
but  he  would  never  accept  any  gifts,  not  even  when  the 
cold  weather  came,  and  gripped  the  poor  thin  chest 
under  the  poor  thin  alpaca-coat  He  grew  very  angry, 
and  said  that  I had  insulted  him,  and  that  he  was  not 
going  into  hospital.  He  had  lived  like  a beast  and  he 
would  die  rationally,  like  a man. 

As  a matter  of  fact,  he  died  of  pneumonia  ; and  on  the 
night  of  his  death  sent  over  a grubby  note  asking  me  to 
come  and  help  him  to  die. 

The  native  woman  was  weeping  by  the  side  of  the 
bed.  McIntosh,  wrapped  in  a cotton  cloth,  was  too 
weak  to  resent  a fur  coat  being  thrown  over  him.  He 
v/as  very  active  as  far  as  his  mind  was  concerned,  and 
his  eyes  were  blazing.  When  he  had  abused  the  Doc- 
tor who  came  with  me,  so  foully  that  the  indignant  old 
fellow  left,  he  cursed  me  for  a few  minutes  and  calmed 
down. 

Then  he  told  his  wife  to  fetch  out  ''The  Book''  from 
a hole  in  the  wall.  She  brought  out  a big  bundle,  wrapped 
in  the  tail  of  a petticoat,  of  old  sheets  of  miscellaneous 
note-paper,  all  numbered  and  covered  with  fine  cramped 
writing.  McIntosh  ploughed  his  hand  through  the  rub- 
bish and  stirred  it  up  lovingly. 

" This,"  he  said,  " is  my  work — the  Book  of  McIntosh 
Jellaludin,  showing  what  he  saw  and  how  he  lived,  and 
what  befell  him  and  others  ; being  also  an  account  of 
the  life  and  sins  and  death  of  Mother  Maturin.  What 
Mirza  Murad  Ali  Beg’s  book  is  to  all  other  books  on 
native  life,  will  my  work  be  to  Mirza  Murad  Ali  Beg's ! " 

This,  as  will  be  conceded  by  any  one  who  knows 
Mirza  Murad  Ali  Beg’s  book,  was  a sweeping  state- 
ment. The  papers  did  not  look  specially  valuable  ; 


286 


TO  BE  FILED  FOR  REFERENCE, 


but  McIntosh  handled  them  as  if  they  were  currency- 
notes.  Then  said  he  slowly  : — 

‘"In  despite  the  many  weaknesses  of  your  education, 
you  have  been  good  to  me.  I will  speak  of  your 
tobacco  when  I reach  the  Gods.  I owe  you  much 
thanks  for  many  kindnesses.  But  I abominate  indebted- 
ness. For  this  reason  I bequeath  to  you  now  the 
monument  more  enduring  than  brass — my  one  book — 
rude  and  imperfect  in  parts,  but  oh  how  rare  in  others  ! 
I wonder  if  you  will  understand  it.  It  is  a gift  more 
honorable  than  . . . Bah  ! where  is  my  brain  ram- 
bling to?  You  will  mutilate  it  horribly.  You  will  knock 
out  the  gems  you  call  ‘Latin  quotations,'  you  Philistine, 
and  you  will  butcher  the  style  to  carve  into  your  own 
jerky  jargon  ; but  you  cannot  destroy  the  whole  of  it. 

I bequeath  it  to  you.  Ethel  ...  My  brain  again  ! . . 
Mrs.  McIntosh,  bear  witness  that  I give  the  Sahib  all 
these  papers.  They  would  be  of  no  use  to  you.  Heart 
of  my  Heart  ; and  I lay  it  upon  you,"  he  turned  to 
me  here,  “that  you  do  not  let  my  book  die  in  its  pres- 
ent form.  It  is  yours  unconditionally — the  story  of 
McIntosh  Jellaludin,  which  is  not  the  story  of  Mc- 
Intosh Jellaludin,  but  of  a greater  man  than  he,  and  of 
a far  greater  woman.  Listen  now ! I am  neither  mad 
nor  drunk ! That  book  will  make  you  famous." 

I said,  “thank  you,"  as  the  native  woman  put  the 
bundle  into  my  arms. 

“ My  only  baby  ! " said  McIntosh  with  a smile.  He 
was  sinking  fast,  but  he  continued  to  talk  as  long  as 
breath  remained.  I waited  for  the  end  : knowing  that, 
in  six  cases  out  of  ten  the  dying  man  calls  for  his 
mother.  He  turned  on  his  side  and  said  : — 

“Say  how  it  came  into  your  possession.  No  one 
will  believe  you,  but  my  name,  at  least,  will  live.  You 


TO  BE  FILED  FOR  REFERENCE.  287 

will  treat  it  brutally,  I know  you  will.  Some  of  it 
must  go  ; the  public  are  fools  and  prudish  fools.  I was 
their  servant  once.  But  do  your  mangling  gently — 
very  gently.  It  is  a great  work,  and  I have  paid  for  it 
in  seven  years'  damnation." 

His  voice  stopped  for  ten  or  twelve  breaths,  and  then 
he  began  mumbling  a prayer  of  some  kind  in  Greek. 
The  native  woman  cried  very  bitterly.  Lastly,  he  rose 
in  bed  and  said,  as  loudly  as  slowly  : — Not  guilty,  my 
Lord ! " 

Then  he  fell  back,  and  the  stupor  held  him  till  he 
died.  The  native  woman  ran  into  the  Serai  among 
the  horses  and  screamed  and  beat  her  breasts  ; for  she 
had  loved  him. 

Perhaps  his  last  sentence  in  life  told  what  McIntosh 
had  once  gone  through ; but,  saving  the  big  bundle  of 
old  sheets  in  the  cloth,  there  was  nothing  in  his  room 
to  say  who  or  what  he  had  been. 

The  papers  were  in  a hopeless  muddle. 

Strickland  helped  me  to  sort  them,  and  he  said  that 
the  writer  was  either  an  extreme  liar  or  a most  wonder- 
ful person.  He  thought  the  former.  One  of  these 
days,  you  may  be  able  to  judge  for  yourselves.  The 
bundle  needed  much  expurgation  and  was  full  of  Greek 
nonsense,  at  the  head  of  the  chapters,  which  has  all  been 
cut  out. 

If  the  thing  is  ever  published,  some  one  may  perhaps 
remember  this  story,  now  printed  as  a safeguard  to 
prove  that  McIntosh  Jellaludin  and  not  I myself  wrote 
the  Book  of  Mother  Maturin. 

I don't  want  the  Gianfs  Robe  to  come  true  in  my 
case. 


THE  END. 


